


How to Talk to Shadows

by TempleCloud



Series: Gardas [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Mind Control, Multiple Personalities, Mutilation, Psychological Torture, Role-Playing Game, Self-Mutilation, Song Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 68,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25441057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleCloud/pseuds/TempleCloud
Summary: Sequel to How to Be a Human. Perdita has gone missing, and Gardas, stuck in dragon-form, goes in search of her, with Paul accompanying Gardas to try to keep him sane. As they encounter more dragons and were-dragons, Gardas has to face his most difficult opponent yet - the Shadow.
Series: Gardas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798888
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

‘But why do you need to meet in a tavern, anyway?’ Paul’s mother asked.

‘Because it’s one of the basic rules for playing Cars And Computers!’ sighed Paul. ‘It’s traditional!’

‘But if you’re playing a group of characters who are sitting around in someone’s living-room, why can’t you just go over to a friend’s house and play it there? It might even help you get into character.’

Paul rolled his eyes. ‘Mum, this is Third Edition C&C. We’re playing characters who are communicating via their computers and aren’t even all on the same continent! How are we supposed to replicate that in real life? All talk into magic mirrors about what we want our characters to do? Didn’t you ever play it, when you were my age?’ He looked hopefully between the three adults in the room.

‘It was banned at school in my day,’ said Auric, Paul’s stepfather. ‘The teachers said it was a godless game.’

‘Look, just because gods and demons don’t physically manifest in it doesn’t mean anyone’s saying they don’t exist!’

‘It’s not just that,’ said Auric. ‘In the First Edition, Clerics weren’t even a character class. They came as NPCs in three varieties: Lawful Evil bigots bent on spreading intolerance and repression through their teaching, Neutral Evil terrorists who really believed the gods wanted them to smite anyone who didn’t agree with their beliefs, and Chaotic Evil criminals who just used the veneer of respectability their profession gave them to let them do what they liked.’

‘Well, okay, but that was back in the olden days…’

‘Eighteen years ago?’ said Auric, with a smile.

‘Exactly! The new rules let you play Good clerics who are committed to defeating poverty, hatred, and environmental destruction. Anyway, if you weren’t allowed to play it, how do you know all this?’

‘I said we weren’t allowed to play it at school,’ Auric corrected him. ‘Azalar and I were part of a group that met in the holidays. Mind you, my parents wouldn’t let me go out to a tavern without a grown-up, so we played at Azalar’s house.’

Ah, yes: Auric’s evil cousin Azalar, future Dark Wizard and proof that the people who said Cars And Computers was invented by demons might have a point. ‘And Gardas?’ Paul asked.

‘They didn’t let me play, no,’ said Gardas. ‘I was a slave, remember. But they let me hang around and bring them drinks and snacks. I took the enchantment off Azalar’s dice, once,’ he added. The corners of his mouth twitched, which was practically a smirk from Gardas.

‘So that was why he hexed you when his Politician got impeached?’ said Auric.

‘Yes.’

‘Did he hex you badly?’ said Beatrice, concerned.

‘His parents made him take it off, next day,’ said Gardas. ‘I wasn’t much good to them without the use of my hands, after all.’

‘Did you ever play?’ Paul asked his mother.

‘No. Witches don’t have any rules against fantasy games, but I didn’t have much free time, between my apprenticeship and keeping up with my schoolwork.’

‘That’s not fair!’ said Paul. ‘It sounds as though you were even more of a slave than Gardas. At least he got to go to school and meet people.’

‘I met lots of people,’ said Beatrice evenly. ‘Being a witch does that. It just meant that I met everyone in whatever village I was stationed in, from babies to very old people, rather than just other teenage girls who were training to be witches.’

She didn’t add, ‘Or teenagers of both sexes training to be wizards,’ but all of them knew about Beatrice’s exchange year, from age fifteen to sixteen, in the wizards’ school in the Walled City on the Downs, where she had met Auric and Azalar and Gardas. The year that had resulted in her getting pregnant, and leaving the newborn Paul with his adoptive parents, Bara and Sammaron, before travelling back to Cideria to continue her apprenticeship.

Paul didn’t want to think about his adoptive parents. They had loved him, and he supposed he had loved them, if he ever really thought about it. But he had known that his birth parents were wizards, like Sammaron’s friend Auric who came to visit from time to time, and that Bara and Sammaron were just commoners with no magic at all. So when he had started at the wizarding school at eleven, he had avoided talking or thinking much about his adoptive parents, and had stayed on at school during the Yule holidays and visited a friend during the Maidensday holidays. Perhaps, when some of his friends had taken it for granted that commoner parents were cruel to wizard children, he hadn’t corrected them. And then, when the six-week-long Harvest holiday came, his parents had been dead, killed by a dragon, who had also incinerated so much of the countryside that there was no need for children to be out of school to help bring the harvest in. Auric had brought Paul to his adoptive parents’ funeral, and invited Paul to stay with him for as long as he needed, but within a few days, Paul was impatient to be back at school. After all, plenty of other children were orphaned too, so it wasn’t as though he would be short of company there.

A year after that, Paul had confronted Azalar and his trained dragon, lost the use of his arm (for nearly a year) and his magical powers (permanently), and seen Azalar’s death. And then, he and Auric and Gardas had left the Downs, because there was no future for them there, and they had come to live with his birth mother in Cideria and try to make a fresh start. He went to a day school now, with Beatrice and Auric and Gardas taking it in turns to fly him in, now that he couldn’t ride there on a broom. Now that he had to prepare for a lifetime of not being a wizard.

He began to hum, under his breath, [one of the songs they used to sing](https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=youtube+little+boxes+pete+seeger&view=detail&mid=A46CA901870E6B96BECEA46CA901870E6B96BECE&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCOSP%26ptag%3dN1117D060818AE20BDC3E2E%26form%3dCONMHP%26conlogo%3dCT3210127%26q%3dyoutube%2blittle%2bboxes%2bpete%2bseeger) in Assembly at his old school:

Little peasants in the village, little peasants made of daub and wattle:

Little peasants without magic, and they all stink just the same.

There’s a shepherd, and a ploughman, and a cobbler, and a chicken-cooper,

And they never go adventuring, and their lives are all the same.

‘Paul!’ snapped his mother. ‘Stop that!’

‘It’s not anti _-_ commoner,’ protested Paul, who had this argument with Beatrice quite frequently. ‘It’s just saying commoners exist, that’s all. If Perdita pointed at the forest and said, “Trees!” you wouldn’t think she meant she hated and despised trees, would you?’

‘Wizarding schools make children sing songs like that, and then they wonder how they produced Azalar,’ said Beatrice, ignoring the comparison with Paul’s young adopted sister, who was in bed and, with any luck, asleep by this time in the evening. ‘Anyway: you and your friend Maz and a few others want to play a fantasy game set in a world where magic doesn’t exist, and you need to play it in the King’s Head at Drakespring. Is that right?’

‘Yes. All their parents agreed.’

‘I just think you’re too young to be going in there without an adult.’

‘You don’t mind if I go to the Knight and Dragon!’

‘Because that’s in our village, where everyone knows you, and they know not to let you get drunk. Drakespring is the capital city, it’s got ten thousand people living there, and the people behind the bar don’t know whether you’re old enough to drink, or how to contact your parents if you get into a fight, or anything.’

Beatrice said, ‘ten thousand people’ as if Drakespring was a teeming metropolis, instead of a small market town that happened to be where the King lived. It wasn’t the biggest town in Cideria – Lindmere had eighty thousand citizens, plus the rich tourists who came to socialise there from Yule to Midsummer, the patients who were brought to the city hospital, the students at the university, and the pilgrims who visited its monastery, and Lindmere was still considerably smaller than the Walled City in the Downs.

‘However,’ Beatrice went on, ‘I have to meet the King on Saturday afternoon anyway. So, Auric, if you look after Perdita, I could bring Paul and Gardas in on the broom and drop them off at the King’s Head, then go up to the Palace for a couple of hours and come back and pick the boys up afterwards. Gardas, are you okay with chaperoning Paul?’

Gardas nodded.

‘Paul, are you okay with that?’

Paul sighed. It was the best deal he was going to get. He wished it wasn’t. Especially as Maz was going to be there.

When Paul had first arrived in Cideria, he had been as sarcastic and unpleasant to Maz as possible, because she had insisted on being nice to him, which is embarrassing when it comes from a good-looking, academically and athletically brilliant, magically-talented girl who is obviously going to be a successful wizard, to a new boy with a paralysed arm and no hope of being able to do magic ever again. When the girl in question happens to be named Mary Sue, she’s asking for trouble. 

Admittedly, she had tried to disguise this last defect by saying when they first met, ‘But my friends call me Maz.’ Paul had taken this as his cue to call her Mary Sue, which was the name by which all the teachers called her name on the register, and, in fact, the name by which virtually everyone called her, since Mary-Sue Jenkins did not, in reality, have any friends. She wasn’t even the perfect, popular girl being kind to those less fortunate than herself, he had concluded, from the depths of self-pity that he had been wallowing in for most of that year. She was just the teachers’ pet whom nobody liked, trying to make some friends among other losers, and he wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

But then, when Paul’s arm had recovered, Mary Sue had not, as he expected, lost interest in him now that he was ‘normal’, but had asked him, in a voice that was trying hard to be casual, ‘Want to do some archery practice this lunch time? Bet I can beat you!’ And Paul had said, ‘Come off it, Maz, I could THROW an arrow more accurately than you can fire one!’ and they’d practised together, and they’d started to become friends at last.

But now he was starting to notice Maz as more than just a friend. Somewhere along the line, she had grown from simply being pretty, with her wavy auburn hair, blue eyes and freckles, to being outright sexy. At the same time, she had also taken to being evasive. Paul had tried asking her whether she had a boyfriend, and she had said, ‘No,’ in a voice that forbade further discussion. Since then, every time he had asked her anything remotely personal, their conversations had gone along these lines:

Paul: ‘So, you’re taking Dragon Studies next year, too? Do you have a dragon?’

Maz: ‘Not exactly.’

Paul: ‘What are you doing after school?’

Maz: ‘Oh, nothing. Just homework.’

Paul: ‘Maybe we could read up on Dragon Studies together?’

Maz: ‘NO!’

But then, when Paul had been on the verge of giving up and walking off in a huff, she had added, ‘My brother’s starting a new Cars And Computers campaign on Saturday. Two o’clock in the King’s Head in Drakespring. Want to come?’

So Paul had said, ‘Sure, why not?’ trying not to sound too excited. This was the first time he and Maz had actually gone out together – and they had to share it with Maz’s older brother Will, an assortment of Will’s friends, and now, Gardas as well.

Maz hadn’t met Gardas before, or at least, hadn’t met him in his human form. She had admired the fierce Black dragon that Paul sometimes rode to school, and Paul had avoided mentioning that this was a were-dragon, and definitely avoided inviting Maz over to tea at his house where she might encounter Gardas as a person. He was quite bright (if over-aggressive) for a dragon, whereas in human form he was just weird and embarrassing. Paul hoped Gardas wouldn’t admit that he was Paul’s father. Trying to explain why his biological father lived with his mother and stepfather would have been bad enough even without the were-dragon aspect.


	2. Chapter 2

Cideria had not had a revolution or a civil war in nearly four hundred years. Oh, the crown wasn’t always passed from father to eldest son. Frequently it zigzagged from grandmother to grandson to nephew to daughter to cousin to stepson. But it was handed on with care, and not scrambled for in a mad rush, at least partly because reigning nowadays was a thoroughly unpopular job, involving lots of paperwork and not much real power, and certainly not worth murdering your relatives to attain. Natural selection ensured that monarchs of Cideria were amiable, well-balanced people who didn’t go round shouting, ‘Off with his head!’ because the other sort didn’t live long enough to breed. 

Foreigners often assumed that it was common for royal heirs to be foundlings, because there were so many stories of princes who had been peacefully ploughing or serving as squire to some knight when a messenger arrived to tell them that they were now king. In reality, kings ensured that their children and grandchildren did work experience placements, under assumed names, in between studying courses on politics and statecraft. They took the view that if a prince was going to learn the ways of the ordinary people by spending his time in down-at-heel taverns, he should be making himself useful doing the washing-up, instead of just lounging around patronising those who worked for a living. Of course, it was understood that the king would not punish his heir’s boss just for giving the heir to the throne a well-deserved reprimand for being a slacker or late for work, but by the same token, employers learned not to be too hard on the new assistant shepherd or the clumsy young barmaid, just in case they turned out to be royal scions.

And, just in case the royal family forgot what happened to a king who got too big for his crown, there were taverns all over Cideria, including the one ten minutes’ walk from the palace in Drakespring, called The King’s Head. Some of the tavern signs were more gruesomely realistic than others, but they all stood as a reminder: you reign because we let you. Don’t push your luck.

Inside, it smelled of cider rather than blood, and looked much like any other tavern, with horse-brasses for decoration, a darts board, and a menu written in chalk on a blackboard. Maz had already found a table, along with her brother Will and a troll girl whose body seemed to be all cubes and sheer planes and whose skin gleamed silver-black. She looked startlingly different from most of the trolls Paul was used to seeing around Cideria, who were generally rough-skinned and ranged from grey to reddish to honey-gold. She had a chalkshake on the table in front of her, but was ignoring it, carrying on a muttered conversation with the imp who sat on her shoulder.

Imps were becoming quite popular pets, at least among people who lived in towns, where the imps could carry messages and didn’t make as much mess as pigeons. They could chitter messages to each other, at a frequency inaudible to humans, which an imp a considerable distance away could pick up with his big, bat-like ears, and pass on. Paul’s parents refused to let him have one, on the grounds that nobody else in their village had one, and the pattern of hills and valleys between them and the nearest town with a reasonable imp population blocked out all sound, so it would be cruel to keep an imp isolated from the rest of his species.

‘Hi,’ said Maz. ‘Uh, shall we start by introducing ourselves? Do you want to go first?’ she added to Gardas. He was a tall man, even sitting down, and Maz had to look up into his goat-like yellow eyes with the horizontal pupils, and further up, at his spiky black hair, already thinned to a widow’s peak in his early thirties, looking recognisably like a dragon’s crest. Admittedly, Paul realised, the troll girl must be at least as tall as Gardas, and many times as heavy.

‘I’m Tony Smith,’ said Gardas. Paul blinked. ‘I’m a fifty-year-old male Caucasian human computer programmer, I’m five foot eight and weigh twenty-two stone. I live alone with my collection of computers and metalwork tools and my animal companion, a ginger cat called Herbie. My mother was a stay-at-home housewife and my father was a middle manager in a ballpoint-pen factory. I left home at sixteen, worked as a mechanic in the Royal Air Force until I was thirty, then went to university as a mature student, studied computer science, and became a freelance programmer. However, I now find it difficult to get contracts because employers won’t believe that anyone except new graduates knows how to use the latest systems, so I have some free time to take part in a quest…’

Paul’s heart sank. Even after a couple of years of trying to get used to being a human, Gardas couldn’t seem to grasp basic social rules – such as the convention that adults who are required to chaperone younger people are supposed to sit on the side-lines, looking politely bored and tolerant of whatever activity the younger generation are enjoying, because they are too old and out of touch to understand what it’s about. If they want to join in, then whatever they are doing by definition becomes childish and unworthy of the attention of teenagers, and the parents’ enthusiasm is just a pathetically ill-judged attempt to engage with their children.

‘He’s called Gardas,’ said Paul, shaking his head sadly. ‘He can’t help it, he – took some damage in the wizarding war over in the Downs. He’s having sessions with a Mindhealer. Anyway, my parents sort of look after him. It’s best just to ignore him when he says weird stuff, and he’ll feel better soon.’

‘Hi, Gardas,’ said Maz. ‘I think Tony sounds a really interesting character.’ 

‘Yes, he’s got potential,’ said Will. ‘What about you, Paul – have you created a character yet?’

‘I’m Sanjay, I’m a nineteen-year-old Asian human environmental campaigner.’

‘Fair enough. What do your parents do?’

Paul hadn’t even considered giving his character parents. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Well, if you spend all your time on environmental protests and don’t have a paying job, that probably means your parents are supporting you, which means they’re likely to want to know when you’re going to give up your youthful idealism, go to university and study something useful like medicine or law, and have a career. And if you don’t specify any details about your parents, that leaves me free to invent them.’

‘Okay, uh – they’re teachers. My mum teaches science, my dad teaches English.’

‘Okay,’ said Will. ‘What about you, Maz?’

‘I’m Alice Mokoni, I’m a thirty-eight-year-old black human journalist. Uh, my father is Kenyan, my mother is English, the child of parents from Trinidad, and my parents met at university. My father is a doctor, my mother was a social worker but switched to being a foster-carer. As a child, I had lots of foster-siblings from every speci- I mean, every ethnic background, we’ve only got humans in this setting, but every human ethnicity other than white British, because social services assumed that being ethnic minorities automatically meant we’d bond. Some of my foster-sibs were a bit weird, because they’d been brought into care after being abused for years without anyone noticing, because the social workers just thought, “Oh, people from different cultures probably think that’s a normal way to treat children,” but lots of them were nice, normal children who were sad because they’d been orphaned or they were refugees.’

‘Humans playing humans. What a surprise!’ said the troll sarcastically. She had a strong Kernese accident. Paul didn’t recall seeing her at school, but he had heard grown-ups talking of refugees from Kernow fleeing into the neighbouring country of Ottery, and perhaps some of the ones who hadn’t felt safe there had come further east, into Cideria. Kernese humans complained about giants demanding heavy taxes and eating those who couldn’t pay, and trolls complained of being murdered by humans and dwarves who hoped to find valuable minerals in them in order to pay their taxes.

Come to think of it, for the last few weeks his mother and Gardas had been working on brewing huge quantities of anti-sun cream for delivery to Woadhill, even though the summer wasn’t oppressively sunny by human standards. He’d heard Auric saying, ‘Will they really want this much? After all, there are plenty of witches in Woadhill, and the trolls will probably mostly stay inside in daylight – it’s not as though anyone’s asking them to help with the harvest. And it might have gone cloudier by the time their children start school in the autumn.’

‘Please, Galena,’ said Maz. ‘It’s nothing personal – the game just doesn’t have the option of playing non-humans.’

‘I can play a computer, surely?’ protested Galena. ‘They’re even in the title!’

‘Yes, but they’re not actually – they’re not conscious,’ said Maz. ‘They’re just machines that humans use.’

‘So when Crystal and Mica get here, are you going to tell them that the only silicon-based beings in this universe are mindless slaves of humans?’ growled Galena. ‘When are they coming, anyway?’

‘I think they might be – busy,’ said Maz.

‘Shale!’ cursed the troll. ‘Phono, can you try one more time to call Crystal’s imp?’

The imp chirruped, and stopped. ‘Sever’s asleep,’ he said flatly.

‘What? Five minutes ago you said Sever kept calling for Crystal but Crystal didn’t want to talk, and now suddenly the imp’s asleep?’

‘Yep. I think Crystal tole Sever to go to sleds.’

‘Must be “busy”,’ said Galena grimly. ‘All right, try calling Mica’s imp.’

Phono chirruped again. ‘Tionar? Tionar, can you fine Mica?’ He listened intently, his ears twitching. ‘Tionar paid Mica paid: “Oh no, not HER!” and Crystal paid, “Knock him out, knock him OUT!” And them Tionar stopsed talling, because someone git him on the head.’ Although Phono’s speech was slurred when he was speaking for himself, he was perfectly able to mimic the voices of the two trolls his friend had overheard.

‘Well, you can take messages for Tionar and Sever to read when they wake up,’ growled Galena. ‘Tell Crystal she’s an ore… fully disloyal friend,’ she amended hastily. ‘So it’s just us playing, then?’ she added to Will and the others. ‘Three humans and one token troll.’

Paul sighed. ‘Are you going to create a character, or…’ he began. He didn’t get any further, because at this moment Galena stood up and swung a heavy square fist at Paul. Gardas instantly went into dragon-form and sprang at Galena. Like most Black dragons, he wasn’t particularly big, only the size of a horse – though still much bigger than the Gules dragons that people kept as pets – but he was strong enough to pin the troll to the floor with both forepaws. ‘ _Don’t you dare!_ ’ he growled in Dragonese. ‘ _This human is MINE!_ ’

‘Don’t use THAT WORD!’ spat Galena.

‘Who?’ said Maz. ‘The dragon?’

‘No! That human boy! You heard what he called me!’

‘I didn’t call you anything!’ protested Paul.

‘I know what humans call trolls!’ snapped Galena. ‘It’s what they called my mother just before they killed her!’

‘I don’t think Paul was calling you an O-R-E,’ said Maz patiently. ‘I think he said O-R, as in, “alternatively”. Anyway, you called Crystal the same thing,’ she pointed out.

‘No, I said she was awfully disloyal! Are you humans all deaf as well as racist? Anyway, I can’t be quarried to deal with this. If the dragon lets me up, I’m going home.’

‘What, now?’ said Maz.

‘Yes!’

‘Do you want me to teleport you and Phono?’

‘No! I can walk!’

‘Only it’s six miles to Woadhill, and it’s really hot and sunny…’

‘Oh, der nice human girl is taking care of der poor troll who can’t go out in der sun and is too fick to re-mem-ber dat she can’t go out in der sun!’ sneered Galena. ‘I’ve got sun-cream, I’ll be fine, okay?’

Gardas shifted his paws off the troll, and she stood up and stormed out, not even bothering to gather up her imp, who was lying stunned on the ground.

‘Phono? Are you all right?’ Maz asked.

The imp stirred and groaned, rubbing his head. ‘Wgat?’ he mumbled. ‘Wgat’p gmgmg mm? Wgdpd am I?’

‘It’s all right,’ said Maz. ‘You had a fall and you hit your head. Galena’s gone out. Do you want me to take you back to her?’

‘Ends rid want to buz me?’ asked Phono. ‘She’s left tie pins, so pie night get another hop instead.’

‘Take it slowly,’ said Maz.

‘Does she want to buy me?’ said Phono, as slowly and clearly as he could. ‘She’s left the shop, so she might get another imp instead.’

‘No, no, it’s all right, she did buy you,’ said Maz. ‘You’ve been Galena’s imp for years now – you came with her to Cideria, when she had to run away from Kernow. You know her friends’ imps, don’t you?’

‘Phono looked puzzled for a moment, still rubbing his aching head, but then he brightened. ‘Tionar and Sever!’ he said. ‘Tionar is Mica’s imp, and Sever is Crystal’s.’

‘That’s right. Now, Galena’s gone out because she’s cross with Mica and Crystal. She’s not cross with you, but she fell over and you fell off her shoulder, and she forgot to pick you up. So, do you want me to take you back to her?’

‘Lates,’ said Phono. ‘When she’s not so crops.’

‘Okay. Is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry? This place might sell imp-food.’

‘No thanks, I had a good neck before we band herd.’

‘You had a good meal before you came here?’ Maz translated, and the imp nodded. ‘It’s all right, ‘neck’ is just imp slang for something to eat,’ she explained. ‘They don’t bite people’s necks or anything.’

‘But if he’s concussed, how does he know if he’s had breakfast?’ Paul pointed out.

‘I can remember now!’ Phono reassured him. ‘Galena asked me to call Sever, then Tionar. Sever was asleep, and Tionar tole me he could gear Mica and Crystal together, and then Mica made him go to sleep, too.’ He paused. ‘Did Galena go to see Crystal and Mica?’ he added.

‘I think she might have done,’ said Maz. ‘I ought to go and sort things out.’

‘No, Maz!’ groaned Will. ‘When you try to “sort things out”, you usually make them much, much worse. If Galena wants to have a fight, she probably will have a fight, and it’s better if she has it with another troll than with a human. Humans are squishy, and so are imps. I think Phono is right – wait until Galena isn’t so cross.’

While Phono had been recovering, Gardas had been deteriorating. He had difficulty focusing when he was in dragon-form without someone to talk to him in Dragonese, and his human mind generally receded into the background. This meant that the dragon part of him was aware that it was in an enclosed building, with a tense emotional atmosphere. He was flapping his wings anxiously, jerking his horned head. Any minute now, he would start swinging his tail about, and then trying to burn or smash a hole in the nearest wall…

‘ _Gardas!_ ’ said Paul in Dragonese. ‘ _Sit down! Stay! Good boy!_ ’

‘You’re talking to him like a dog!’ said Maz indignantly.

‘When he’s this far gone, it’s all he understands,’ Paul pointed out.

‘ _Gardas, do you want to turn human again?_ ’ Maz asked.

‘ _Don’t like this!_ ’ Gardas moaned. ‘ _Too closed-in!_ ’

‘He can’t control it,’ Paul said. ‘We both lost our magic, back in that war in the Downs, so when Gardas goes into dragon-form, he’s stuck with it until someone turns him back. Can you do that spell?’

‘I – I’m not sure,’ said Maz. ‘I don’t want to try it and risk hurting him if the spell goes wrong. But – does that normally happen to were-dragons? Not being able to think rationally?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Paul. ‘My mum says it’s because Gardas lost his magic, but – well, I met him before he lost his magic, and he was way wilder and more dangerous back then. I think probably all were-dragons are.’

‘How do you know? Have you met any others?’ asked Maz.

‘No.’

‘How do you know you haven’t?’

‘Well – because they’ve got weird eyes, like a goat,’ said Paul. ‘My adopted sister is a were-dragon, and she’s got them, too, even though she hasn’t turned into a dragon yet.’

‘But do all were-dragons?’ Maz persisted.

‘I expect so! I told you, I don’t know any others, sorry for not being an expert!’

‘Maybe Gardas needs to be with other were-dragons, apart from your sister,’ said Maz.

‘Maybe! And I need to be with other humans! You’re – you’re my best human friend, and I hoped we could spend some time together, just being friends the way humans are! I didn’t want to bring Gardas, my mum said I wasn’t allowed to go into a tavern unless he was there to keep an eye on me,’ (Paul patted Gardas reassuringly and murmured, ‘ _No offence – I do love you, honestly,_ ’) ‘and I didn’t know you were bringing a troll friend who thinks all humans are out to get her! I just – wish we could be friends the way we would be if I came from a normal family!’

‘I don’t think I can do normal, either,’ said Maz coldly. ‘And if you’re going to treat Gardas like an animal just because he’s a were-dragon, I don’t want to be here. Goodbye.’

With that, she walked out, cradling Phono in her hands. Will sighed and followed her. Paul patted Gardas again.

‘ _I’m a bad dragon,_ ’ moaned Gardas.

‘ _It’s all right,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _It’s not your fault. We just need to wait here until Beatrice comes._ ’ But, of course, it wasn’t all right, and it was Gardas’s fault – not so much for anything he’d done, certainly not for protecting Paul from an angry troll, but for being an embarrassment just by existing.


	3. Chapter 3

Gardas had nearly managed to go to sleep, tucking his head under his wing as he did when he wanted people to leave him alone, when he smelled the familiar scent of Beatrice. He sprang up, lashing his tail excitedly, and knocked a table over.

‘ _Down, boy! Okay, good boy,_ ’ said Paul, as Gardas obediently lay down again.

Beatrice patted his scaly shoulder, and then said something in human language which Gardas couldn’t be bothered to decipher, but which he could guess was, ‘Gardas is going to get changed now, so please can you look the other way.’ Everyone turned their backs except Beatrice and Paul, and Beatrice kissed him on the snout to reverse the transformation.

‘Did you bring a change of clothes?’ she whispered.

‘No,’ Gardas admitted, embarrassed. The shirt, trousers and pants he had had on would have been burst apart when he grew into a dragon, and probably ripped by his back-spines. At least he had arrived barefoot, so hadn’t had to worry about boots restricting his claws.

‘I brought some,’ whispered Beatrice, holding out a bag. Gardas hurriedly began getting dressed, realised he had hurried so much that he was trying to put his underpants on the wrong way round, and put them on properly, followed by everything else. He gathered up the ragged remains of the clothes he had been wearing earlier, and stuffed them into the bag, and righted the overturned table. Fortunately, the only mugs on it had been made of either wood, leather, or horn, rather than breakable pottery, or, worse, breakable and expensive glass. 

Unusually, there was no sign of any pewter mugs anywhere in the room, but Gardas was sure that, in dragon-form, he had been able to smell pewter. Perhaps the bar staff had hurriedly put them away when they saw Galena approaching. Making pewter needed tin imported from Kernow, as well as Ciderian lead, and the Kernese trolls were not happy about it.

While Gardas was clearing up, Paul apologised to the landlord and thanked him for putting up with the inconvenience, and the family set off together.

‘Did you have a good afternoon?’ Gardas asked, as they walked away from the town, Beatrice carrying her broom until they were out of the built-up area. Outside, the road wound between fields, running more or less parallel to the River Lind, but built far enough above it not to be flooded every time the river burst its banks. It was a beautiful summer day, and Gardas felt guilty about enjoying such lovely weather when he had disgraced himself in front of Paul. All the same, he loved summer. Beatrice, who with her fair skin was nearly as sensitive to sun as a troll, wore her broad-rimmed pointy hat as much for shade as to remind people that she was a witch.

‘Up until now,’ said Beatrice uneasily. Some people would have said that just to be nasty, but Beatrice never rubbed in the guilt when people already felt guilty and ashamed. She sounded worried.

‘Are you wondering how we’ll cope when you and Auric are away?’ Gardas asked.

‘Well, it’s partly that. And – well, even though you’re exiled from the Downs, the King said he could organise diplomatic immunity for you as a Ciderian subject coming on an official visit to bring magical relief. I’d told him how you’d helped us research spells to reverse dragon-blight, and even donated your own blood for the cleansing potions, so the King thought you ought to get recognition for your work. But I told him what you’d said about not wanting to go back, and how many people in the Downs are still likely to want you dead. And the King agreed with me that it might be best if you don’t come with us this time, but that we’ll tell people about all the good work you’ve been doing to heal all the damage you caused, and I promised that you’ll be able to cope without us for a few weeks. And now I’m wondering whether I made the right decision.’

‘You don’t want to go to the Downs with a were-dragon who sheds his clothes in public,’ said Gardas.

‘Oh, that’s the least of it! But you really ought to carry a spare set, just in case.’

‘As if I were Perdita,’ muttered Gardas. ‘A grown man like me, needing to carry a spare pair of pants in case he has an accident!’

‘Have you thought about going back to wearing robes, instead of trousers?’ asked Beatrice. ‘They might be loose enough not to get as damaged, and at least that way, underwear would be the only thing you’d need to replace.’

‘It’s not right, wearing robes when I’m not a wizard.’

‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Beatrice asked.

Gardas didn’t feel up to explaining. Paul did, as they arrived in the patch of woodland where Gardas had changed from dragon to human after the outward journey. Beatrice listened, and said at the end, ‘So it wasn’t exactly an accident, was it? I mean, not the sort where you just lose your temper. You saw that Paul was in danger from someone bigger and more powerful than you are in human form, so you instinctively switched into the right shape for protecting him. Good for you!’

‘I shouldn’t have been there,’ groaned Gardas. ‘I’m not fit to be with young maidens like Maz and Galena. I shouldn’t be with Perdita, when she gets a bit older.’

‘Do you mean because of what happened when we were sixteen, or another reason?’ said Beatrice.

‘Because of what I did to you when we were at school.’

‘Stop it!’ said Beatrice firmly. ‘We’ve been through this. You were under a spell. So was I. If I wasn’t to blame, neither were you. I’m pretty sure the main reason Azalar set it up was to get you expelled from school and under his power. The sexual aspect would have been just a side-benefit for him. Though he did try asking me out, and I turned him down and then started going out with Auric,’ she added, ‘so he might have been seeking revenge on me as well.’ 

‘Nobody except you thinks fathering me is the worst thing you’ve ever done,’ added Paul. ‘What about laying waste to an entire country and killing lots of people? What about MURDERING MY ADOPTIVE PARENTS _?_ Why don’t you beat yourself up over THAT?’

Gardas wasn’t sure why he didn’t, except that crimes he had committed in dragon-form didn’t feel as if they were his crimes, exactly. They felt as if someone else had done them – or as if they were something he had done a long time ago, when he was a young child like Perdita, and he couldn’t understand how that child had thought. But it had been his own, human evil that had made him desperate to do whatever it took to have sex with Beatrice. His dragon-nature, left to itself, would probably just have regarded a human girl as food. The human Gardas, sober and in his thirties, thought that Beatrice was a lovely, caring, intelligent, happily married woman, and wished that he could get married to someone like her. Aged sixteen and high on the potion Azalar had tricked him into drinking, he had thought she was so irresistibly sexy that he would die if he couldn’t have her. Which meant that he was an evil criminal who should never be allowed near a woman.

‘What Azalar wanted was power,’ Beatrice went on. ‘His manipulating you into doing something wrong made you feel guilty, which meant you didn’t trust your own judgement, which meant you let him manipulate you into doing more wrong things, which meant he could use you as a weapon to terrorise an entire country. And if you spend the remaining however-many centuries of your life hating yourself, you’re letting Azalar go on controlling you even after his death.’

‘Those sacred books you quote sometimes say God forgives us and we should forgive each other,’ said Gardas. ‘Do they say anywhere that we’re allowed to forgive ourselves?’

‘They don’t say we’re allowed to withhold forgiveness from those God has forgiven,’ said Beatrice.

‘Well, they were written for humans,’ said Gardas. ‘Not monsters like me.’

‘Are you calling yourself a monster because you’re a were-dragon, or because you’ve done bad things?’ asked Beatrice.

Gardas didn’t reply. They had had this conversation many times, and he couldn’t explain what he meant by calling himself a monster, except that he knew that he was one, and Beatrice couldn’t change that.

‘If you think being a were-dragon makes you a monster, do you think Perdita is a monster?’

‘No. Neither is…’ Gardas began, and then stopped. He didn’t need to tell Paul and Beatrice that, in dragon-form, he had smelled another were-dragon in the tavern. Not everyone was ready to come out of the cave. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being a were-dragon.’

‘Well, if you mean you’re morally a monster, there’s a difference between saying, “I have sinned,” and saying, “I am evil.” If you say, “I have sinned,” you try not to do whatever it was again. But if you define yourself as evil, you’re denying the existence of anything non-evil in you, and therefore denying the possibility that you could ever behave in a non-evil way.’

‘A bad tree doesn’t bear good fruit,’ quoted Gardas. Beatrice had been fond of quoting proverbs like that, when she was a teenager. It annoyed her nowadays when Gardas quoted her younger self back at her, and if she insisted on trying to make him feel better when he wanted to hate himself, he was determined to be annoying.

‘Quite right,’ said Beatrice. ‘So, logically, a tree that has some good apples, but happens to have maggots in a few of them, isn’t really a bad tree. And you can usually salvage enough bits from even the maggoty ones to make a pie. Now, do you feel up to flying home, or do you want a lift?’

‘Will the broom take three of us?’ asked Gardas.

‘Definitely. There’s a reinforcing spell on the wood – I’ve used it for rescuing people and livestock in floods, or taking bales of hay to snowed-in farms. But it’s up to you – if you feel calm enough to fly home, and Paul’s happy to ride you, it might do you good to burn off some energy.’

Paul grimaced. He had seemed to enjoy the ride to Drakespring earlier that afternoon, but now he looked as though he had had enough of Gardas’s dragon-persona for one day. And Gardas couldn’t be trusted to fly home unaccompanied, because the loss of his magic powers meant that he could no longer keep his human mind for long when in dragon-form.

‘Let’s go by broom,’ they both said.


	4. Chapter 4

As the broom approached Beatrice’s cottage, Gardas felt a tingling in the small scar on his forearm that corresponded to a missing scale when he was in dragon-form. Whoever was holding the fallen scale broadcast their emotions to him. Gardas wasn’t good at reading human emotions, so he sometimes asked people to hold the scale to show him how they felt. When it wasn’t in use, he generally kept it in a box on his bedroom. But now, someone must have got their hands on it. Someone whose mind had a familiar feel, like scales as silver as moonlight. Perdita.

He could feel the little girl’s curiosity, mixed with guilt (she knew perfectly well she wasn’t allowed to come into Gardas’s bedroom uninvited, let alone touch his scale without being supervised), pleasure in her own daring at doing what she wasn’t supposed to do, and affection for Gardas. Then there was something else – alarm and apprehension, then stubborn defiance.

As they flew nearer, Gardas could hear an argument going on.

‘Perdita,’ said Auric sternly, ‘I’ve told you to give me the scale. You’re not a baby any more; you’re a big girl and you know what I’m talking about. So if you don’t do what I say, I’m afraid I’m going to have to smack you.’

Gardas’s stomach churned at this, but that was his own emotion. Perdita’s emotions registered only more curiosity about how this was going to go, and even greater defiance. ‘You can smack me, but I won’t give you the scale,’ she said firmly.

‘Please, will you just give it to me?’ said Auric. He must have been touching the scale now, trying to prise it out of Perdita’s hand. Unlike Perdita, Auric was feeling fear, at least three strands twisted together – probably fear of having to make good his threat and hit Perdita, fear of breaking her fingers if he tried too hard to wrest the scale away from her, and fear that she might swallow it and choke on it. He was also exasperated, and sad. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to being cruel – he had never yet hit Perdita, and didn’t want to start. But he was feeling stubborn, as was Perdita. Neither of them was going to back down.

Gardas realised that he himself – or part of him – actually was drooling with anticipation at the thought of pain. The rest was horrified – both at Auric and at himself. How dare Auric threaten to hit Perdita? How dare he, Gardas, take pleasure in someone hurting a child? He had to stop this before it went any further. He tried to vault off the broom before it had actually landed, and tripped, as most of his body toppled forward head first, while one foot was still hooked over the broomstick. He picked himself up, limped up to the door and fumbled with the door-handle, fighting not to turn into a dragon as he shouted, ‘ _THIS DRAGON IS MINE!_ ’

He’d been shouting in Dragonese, but he mustn’t change shape again – when he was in this mood, there was no telling what he’d do in dragon-form, either to Auric or Perdita.

Now he could feel real terror from both Perdita and Auric – and then he stopped feeling anything from them at all. When he at last managed to get the door open, Perdita was sobbing, huddling in Auric’s lap and burying her face in his shirt, the black scale lying forgotten on the floor as she clung to Auric with both hands. Auric looked frightened, but also puzzled. ‘Gardas,’ he said, ‘which shape are you trying to be?’

‘ _Human_ ,’ said Gardas. He didn’t seem to have wings at present, and his arms looked like normal human arms, not a dragon’s forelegs, but he had claws instead of fingers, and, raising one arm to feel his face, he could make out a long scaly snout with sharp teeth, and slightly curved horns.

‘Calm down, all of you,’ said Beatrice. ‘Perdita, it’s all right. Gardas isn’t cross with you; he was frightened because he thought Auric was going to hurt you. And Auric was frightened because he thought you might choke on Gardas’s scale. Gardas – that’s the first time I’ve seen you halt a transformation partway. I’m impressed. Can you turn fully human again, do you think?’

Gardas tried. ‘ _No,_ ’ he said.

Beatrice turned him back again. ‘It’s all right, Perdita,’ she said again. ‘Gardas didn’t mean to frighten you. Do you want to give him a cuddle?’

‘No,’ said Perdita, still hanging tightly on to Auric.

‘I think we’d better talk about this later,’ said Beatrice to Auric and Gardas. ‘But now we need to have tea, and then it’s bath-time and then story-time and bed for you, young lady,’ she said to Perdita. ‘At least – has anyone milked the goats?’

‘I’ve done Bessie and Alicia,’ said Auric. ‘I thought Perdita was watching, and I was about to start on Bramble when I realised Perdita had wandered off.’

‘I’ll do Bramble and Star,’ said Gardas, feeling despondent about the lack of a cuddle from Perdita. She had watched him change from human to dragon and back often enough, so could it really be his half-dragon form that upset her? Or the fact that he had been so angry, angrier than she had ever seen him? Or, worse – what if, when another were-dragon rather than a human was holding a dragon’s scale, what if it set up a two-way connection, and she had sensed Gardas’s emotions and been disgusted by what she found there?

When he had brought in the buckets of milk, they ate tea, with Perdita insisting on sitting in Auric’s lap rather than on her normal chair next to Gardas. Afterwards, Gardas kept out of the way, washing up and then packing up potions flasks for Auric and Beatrice to take with them to the Downs, while Beatrice bathed Perdita and put her to bed.

Afterwards (a rather long afterwards, as Perdita had been reluctant to go to sleep, demanding more and more stories, lullabies, explanations of where Auric and Beatrice were going tomorrow, why, when would they be back, why weren’t they taking Perdita with them, etc), the older four members of the family settled downstairs. Perdita had the attic bedroom that had been Paul’s for a while; when Perdita had started to grow old enough to need a bedroom of her own instead of sharing Gardas’s, Gardas had volunteered to move into the little cupboard under the stairs, but Paul had argued that it made more sense for him to take it, as he was shorter than Gardas, and was the least likely of them to morph into a dragon unexpectedly.

‘Has anyone got any thoughts on what happened earlier?’ asked Beatrice.

‘I – I’m sorry I upset you, Gardas,’ said Auric. ‘I didn’t like the idea of punishing Perdita, either, but she needs to learn to do as she’s told, and she needs to know that I mean what I say.’

‘Had you explained to her why you didn’t want her playing with Gardas’s scale?’ asked Beatrice.

‘She knows she’s not allowed. And I’d told her that I’d smack her if she didn’t give it back. Isn’t that a good enough reason?’

‘She didn’t seem to think so,’ said Beatrice. ‘I’m not sure I would, either, at her age. When you were little, did you think, “Don’t do it because I’ll punish you if you do,” was a logical reason?’

‘I suppose not,’ said Auric.

‘You, Paul?’

‘No. But then, when Bara and Sammaron did give me proper reasons not to do something, I still didn’t listen.’

‘You, Gardas?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because if we stole from the larder, we’d only get beaten if old Lankin caught us. But if we didn’t, we’d definitely go hungry.’

Beatrice gazed at him, her face full of sympathy. Gardas didn’t talk much to Auric or Paul about his early childhood, but Beatrice knew the horrible details. ‘Do you think maybe part of the reason you reacted so strongly today was because it reminded you of when you were a child?’ she asked.

Gardas nodded. ‘I didn’t want to go back to being the horrible little boy who used to enjoy beating other children until they bled,’ he said. ‘There’s a monster in me that craves blood, and I didn’t want to wake it up.’

‘I wasn’t going to “beat” her!’ said Auric indignantly. ‘This was just letting Perdita know who’s in charge, that’s all. My parents smacked me with their hands when I disobeyed, but they didn’t actually beat me – as in, hit me with a stick – very often. My dad did once, when he caught me using magic to make slugs explode, because he wanted me to know how it feels when someone hurts you just because they’re bigger and stronger than you are. Not that I understood it like that at the time,’ he admitted. ‘I just thought it was very unfair that I was being punished when no-one had specifically told me I mustn’t explode slugs. I just thought I was helping my parents out in the garden. So I decided to run away and seek my fortune. I packed an apple and a few biscuits, and walked down the road until I’d finished my provisions, and then I turned and came back. I must have been about six, I suppose.’

‘The only time Sammaron gave me a serious beating, it was because I’d run away,’ said Paul. ‘Bara and Sammaron always warned me that I mustn’t go out on my own, because there was a bad dragon out there who would eat me. But I thought meeting a dragon sounded fun, and maybe he’d turn out to be nice after all and let me ride on his back. They were frantic with worry when they found me, and they wanted to make sure I remembered not to do it again. What about you, mum? Did you ever run away?’

‘Oh, all the time,’ said Beatrice. ‘I’d been listening to stories about witch-apprentices in the old days – back when witches would take on a magically-talented girl from the age of about five. I thought it was terribly unfair that I’d have to wait until I was eleven, so I kept trying to find witches who were willing to let me come and live with them and do their housework in return for food, board, and training.’

‘Did your parents beat you?’ asked Paul.

‘No, they just asked Gammer Feare, the witch who lived just down the road from us and had babysat me lots of times, to take me for the Solstice holidays. I was really disappointed, because she was just a human witch in a normal cottage, not a troll in a distant cave like Granny Flint or a kobold living deep in the forest like Nana Hithril, and she mainly kept me busy peeling vegetables and cleaning the floor and things, and I couldn’t even go to the Solstice bonfire because we were busy looking after a sick ninety-year-old woman so that her daughter could go to the festival and see her own children and grandchildren. And the old woman’s mind was wandering, and she didn’t even know it was Solstice, but – well, she was complaining that she’d been put to bed with her shoes on, which she hadn’t, of course. But I could see that telling her, “No, you haven’t got your shoes on,” wouldn’t do any good, so I just untucked the bedclothes and washed her feet and rubbed them the special ointment I’d helped Gammer Feare make up, and she said, “Ah, that’s good,” and smiled and went to sleep. And seeing her smile was like seeing God, and I thought, if being a witch means you can remove invisible shoes, it’s definitely what I want to do when I grow up.’

‘What about you, Gardas?’ asked Paul. ‘Did you ever run away?’

‘No.’

‘Why not? I mean, we all had families who loved us, but you were in a place where you were starving and you knew you were being reared to be killed for potions ingredients, and you still didn’t try to escape?’

‘No. I just – never thought of it. I was too busy trying to survive.’

‘Do you think maybe it hadn’t occurred to you that there was anywhere else to go?’ asked Beatrice.

‘I don’t know.’ Gardas felt very tired by this whole conversation.

‘Maybe it’s because we had families who loved us that we grew up thinking the world was a fun, interesting place, and wanted to discover more of it,’ said Beatrice. ‘Come to think of it, what were Azalar’s parents like? I don’t remember meeting them for more than a couple of minutes at the start of the school year.’

‘Well, they didn’t believe in smacking, either,’ said Auric. ‘They thought that was too crude for wizards. They used to hex Azalar instead. At our house, if I ate hardly any of my dinner, my parents would just say, “Well, you’re obviously not hungry, so you don’t need dessert,” and let me go off to play, and if I came in ten minutes later and said, “Can I have a snack?” they’d probably say no, but it was my decision. But Azalar’s parents, if he fidgeted and was fussy about his food, would use a sticking charm to fix his bottom to the chair, and then put a hex on his mouth so that he couldn’t open it except to eat the food on his plate, until he’d finished every bite – if there was one piece of stringy broccoli-stalk or something left, he couldn’t eat a piece of cake or say, “Please may I get down?” or anything.’

‘I don’t remember that,’ said Gardas.

‘No, they finally gave up when he was eleven and started being powerful enough in magic to hex them back.’

‘So Azalar learned that the purpose of magic is to control and humiliate,’ said Beatrice. ‘And Auric learned that if someone does something bad to someone else, you should do it to them to make them know how it feels. And Gardas learned to expect to be a slave and a victim, and not to hope for anything better.’

‘And you learned to expect witchcraft to mostly consist of washing people’s feet,’ added Paul.

‘That’s about right. But anyway – we have to work out what we want Perdita to learn. I think she’s intelligent enough to understand logical explanations like, “Don’t pick up small objects because you might choke on them,” or, “Don’t take other people’s things without asking, because you wouldn’t like it if someone took your toys without asking.” And if she couldn’t understand things like that, then being punished wouldn’t teach her anything if she didn’t know why she was being punished. And I don’t know whether being smacked would have been all that traumatic for her, but upsetting Gardas is traumatic for everyone. So maybe it’s simpler if we just agree on a house rule that we don’t hurt each other. Does that sound reasonable?’

Everyone agreed that it was, and went to bed. But, Gardas thought, it was one thing to agree on that, and another to be confident that he wasn’t actually going to hurt anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Beatrice asked, the next morning.

‘I’ll manage,’ said Gardas.

‘All right. You’re a grown man, and I shouldn’t patronise you. But if you’re worrying about whether you can cope, it makes things worse.’

‘You’ve promised you’ll go to the Downsland – you and Auric. You promised you’d set off today, and stay two weeks.’

‘Well, yes. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Auric went and I stayed here.’

‘You can both fly brooms. Two brooms carry twice as many bottles of potion.’ Stick to what was practical, Gardas reminded himself. Don’t get emotional. Emotions make you turn into a monster.

‘I wish we could all go,’ said Beatrice. ‘You deserve more credit than we do, for working out how your dragon-blood could heal the blight, and volunteering to give it.’

‘They don’t want me back, after what I did.’

‘Well, it’s partly that, and partly the associations Auric’s family has with dragons anyway.’

Gardas nodded. ‘His great-grandfather.’ Over a hundred years earlier in the Downsland, witches, wizards and druids had achieved an uneasy truce. Druids would be allowed to worship at their stone circles, provided they gave up human sacrifice. To show friendship, the wizards even offered their help in teleporting stones from overseas Wyrms, a land even more exotic than Kernow, and levitating them into elaborate structures. Some said the druids were angry at the way the wizards had provided them with neat, rectangular-cut blocks instead of rugged natural shapes, and that some of the druids were muttering that they needed to balance this modernism with a return to traditional religious values. 

Still, the druids had claimed to be grateful, and invited one witch and one wizard to join them for the Yule dedication of their new temple. The witch delegate, a girl who had barely finished her training, and who was fascinated by druid spirituality, eagerly agreed. The wizard representative Zarcason (great-grandfather of Azalar and Auric), who had only just graduated from the wizarding university, had claimed that he wasn’t able to make it, because he was suspicious – as much as anything else, as to why such young representatives had been chosen, instead of the most senior witch and wizard available. Instead, he had arrived under an invisibility spell, and watched from outside the stone circle.

There had been only three survivors: the young witch, who had indeed been about to be sacrificed, and was still lying tied up by the altar-stone; a junior druid, who had been supposed to complete his initiation by cutting her throat; and Zarcason. All three of them described the same thing – a huge dragon had suddenly flown in and flamed everyone, leaving behind only the charred skeletons of the druids. They couldn’t explain why it should have turned up so conveniently, killed most of the people there but one member of each set of magic-users alive, and gone away so suddenly. The witch might have summoned the dragon – the spell to leave one’s body behind, and ride on the mind of an animal, was one of the first pieces of real magic most witches learned. But nobody else in the area recalled having seen a dragon fly over on its way to or from the circle, and it seemed more likely that one or other of the men had turned into a dragon. The druid’s family and friends furiously denied that he would ever have turned on his colleagues like that, and insisted that it must have been the wizard – which didn’t explain why there were no dragon-footprints outside the circle.

At any rate, it had led to a five-year magical war which had included the worst atrocities anyone had seen until Azalar’s reign, and had not concluded until all but one of the druids were dead. The Midsummer six months after peace was declared, Zarcason had given up wizardry (since Downsland wizards in those days were required to be celibate) and got married to the witch who had narrowly escaped being sacrificed, and the former druid who had been ordered to kill her had been best man at their wedding.

Nobody disputed that Zarcason, if he really had been responsible for the Yule Massacre, had simply been carried away by chivalrous rage over the fate of an innocent girl. But it had left a lasting impression in the Downs that wizards plus dragons, or wizards who were were-dragons, were bad news, and in recent years, Azalar had done his best to confirm this. Of the desecrated carvings on the Holy Hills, the carvings of the griffin, the unicorn, and even the werewolf were planned to be restored, but there was still a debate going on over whether to replace the dragon carving with something else – a mermaid, perhaps – or just leave the hillside as Gardas had blasted it, as a reminder of what dragons did.

Gardas wondered whether the druid had been his, Gardas’s, great-grandfather. He was a foundling and had no idea who his parents were, and they might have been normal humans – were-dragons didn’t always breed true. But if there was a were-dragon ancestor out there, perhaps he was still alive, as were-dragons could live for centuries, and maybe Perdita could meet him one day. She deserved to know other were-dragons who were more normal than Gardas…

‘Are you all right?’ Beatrice asked. ‘You seemed lost in thought there.’

Gardas tried to replay the words he hadn’t quite been listening to. ‘We’ve got a stock of calming potions in the cupboard and I know how to make more if I run out, so I should take them as often as I need to, every night if necessary, and visit Xanthus as often as I need to.’

‘Visit Xanthus as often as he thinks you need to,’ Beatrice corrected him. ‘Every day, if necessary. If you’re left to yourself, once you start getting depressed you’re quite capable of convincing yourself that you don’t deserve to see a mind-healer, that you’re just wasting Xanthus’s time and that you should be at home looking after Perdita. So I’m telling you that I want you to go this morning, as soon as we set off – Paul’s more than capable of babysitting Perdita for a couple of hours – and talk to Xanthus about how you’ve been feeling lately, and what happened yesterday – all of it – and let Xanthus decide when you should come again. Because if you start sliding into hating yourself and thinking of yourself as a monster, it’s bad for everyone. Do you promise to go?’

‘Dragon’s honour,’ Gardas promised.

And so, as soon as breakfast, goodbye hugs and kisses, and promises of good behaviour were exchanged, and the witch and wizard set off on their brooms, Gardas walked up the lane to Xanthus’s stable. The centaur was out in his exercise paddock, practising jumps before the day grew too hot, and pausing only to flail his arms at the flies that were biting his withers, and his long golden tail at the flies biting his rump. ‘Morning, Gardas,’ he called cheerfully. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘All right,’ said Gardas. ‘But Beatrice thought I should talk to you anyway.’

They went into the stable, and Gardas rubbed Xanthus down and put the rug on him that he usually wore after he’d been exercising, and Xanthus made tea, and they settled down to talk. Gardas told him about the gaming session, and turning into a dragon, and then losing his temper and turning halfway to a dragon again and making Perdita cry.

‘How does that make you feel?’ Xanthus asked.

‘I hate myself,’ said Gardas. ‘I’ve embarrassed Paul in front of the girl he likes, and now she won’t want to be his friend any more, let alone his girlfriend, because he’s got a defective were-dragon for a father. And I’ve even frightened Perdita. All because I can’t control myself. I’m not a proper were-dragon. They’d be better off without me.’

‘Why can’t you control your transformations?’ Xanthus asked.

‘Because I get emotional.’

‘You feel emotions, yes. When someone you love is threatened, you want to defend them. Do you think other were-dragons feel emotions?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Then how are you different from other were-dragons?’

‘I can’t use magic to control what form I take.’ They had been over all this, many times. Gardas knew Xanthus was just reminding Gardas of what he already knew. But knowing why he was a defective were-dragon didn’t stop him being one.

‘And how else does not having magic make things different from when you did?’ Xanthus went on.

‘When I did – I was the same person all the time.’ Gardas thought about that. ‘At least – I did bad things, killing lots of people and burning down towns, when I was the dragon, and when I think about them now, it feels as if it wasn’t really me doing them. But then, I was like that as a human, too, as long as I felt that I was evil and needed Azalar telling me what to do because I couldn’t make the right decision on my own. I was his slave, but I was the same sort of slave whatever shape I was. And I could remember what he told me to do, and fly out and attack a city, without him being there to remind me. But now – when I go dragon, I’m just an animal, and I need a person – someone like Paul or Beatrice or Eski, or you – to keep me calm. The part of me that’s a person is cut off from the dragon-part, and we can’t talk to each other any more.’

‘And do you think that’s because you lost your magic?’ asked Xanthus. For once, this sounded like a genuine question, not a prompt.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know any other were-dragons who don’t have magic. But it might be that you’ll learn how to talk to your dragon-side, in time. It might be an injury that heals, like a torn muscle, rather than something like having your tail cut off.’ Gardas winced at the metaphor. He remembered, as a child, seeing one of his friends mutilated, and how guilty he had felt at not being able to protect her.

‘It was Auric who destroyed your magic, wasn’t it?’ Xanthus went on.

‘Yes.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘I deserved it.’

‘But how do you feel?’

Gardas didn’t answer.

‘How do you feel about your destroying Paul’s magic?’

‘I hate myself. It was an evil thing to do.’

‘So, do you feel angry with yourself?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you feel angry with Auric?’

‘I mustn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because that’s the same as murdering him. Feeling a bad thing is the same as doing it, and I don’t want to be a murderer any more. I’ve been one for too long.’

‘You think feeling is the same as doing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is this another of the things Beatrice said to you back when you and she were teenagers, that she didn’t really mean and can’t believe you still believe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do you think it is that she’s changed her mind about things over the years?’

‘Because – she’s been learning things, all this time. And I wasn’t, because I was too busy being Azalar’s slave and killing people and setting fire to things.’

‘Are you learning things now?’

‘I think so.’

‘Good. You’ve got a bit of catching up to do, but with a were-dragon’s lifespan, you’ll get there. But – about feeling emotions…’

‘Yes?’

‘You know all those legends where the hero finds a choice between two paths, or two goddesses? Where one represents the easy and wrong way, and the other represents the right but difficult way?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t you think those heroes are tempted to make the wrong choice?’

‘Of course. It wouldn’t be heroic if it was easy for them to make the right choice every time.’

‘So, they can feel the desire to do the wrong thing, but choose to do the right thing?’

‘Yes.’

‘So feeling isn’t exactly the same as doing, is it?’ Xanthus persisted.

‘I don’t know.’ Gardas felt very tired by this conversation, and it was still only morning. At any rate, he mustn’t feel anger, and if Xanthus went on talking to him about emotions, he was going to get angry with Xanthus for trying to get him to express anger. ‘I’m going home,’ he said. ‘I need to lie down.’

‘Fair enough. Can you come here again in a couple of days?’

‘All right. In the morning again, first thing?’

‘Fine. In the meantime, have a relaxing day, but remember what I said.’

Gardas came home, rested for an hour or so while Paul kept Perdita entertained, and then spent the rest of the day doing routine chores or playing with Perdita while Paul read his Dragon Studies textbook. There wasn’t really much to do until the goats came home from their day’s foraging and demanded to be milked. Perdita liked playing with other people, whether children or adults, but if people were busy, she was an imaginative little girl who could easily entertain herself by having conversations with her toys, Ragnar the stuffed toy dragon that Gardas had made from scraps of cloth, and Terry Cotter, the clay dragon-shaped bottle that Auric had made to feed her when she was a baby. Beatrice had asked Nana Hithril to take over witchly responsibilities for the village, so all Gardas needed to do on that side was make sure there were adequate stocks of some of the simpler potions that didn’t really need magical abilities to brew, and to be on hand to go with Nana Hithril and help nurse anyone who was ill or injured. 

Nobody came to call on him, and the day was peaceful enough, but by evening he was starting to feel tired and irritable. He wouldn’t usually have bothered to take a calming potion just for that, but Beatrice had made him promise to take care of himself, and he knew all too well that feeling merely anxious and uncomfortable by evening could keep him awake, and escalate into being frantic with despair by midnight, and then there would be no direction to go except into dragon-shape. He owed it to Paul and Perdita to be well-rested and in a good mood by tomorrow. As soon as Perdita was in bed, while Paul was still sitting outside reading in the summer evening, Gardas took a phial of potion. He lay down on his bed, and slid into twelve hours of blissful, unwakeable sleep, and happy dreams of Perdita flying in the moonlight.


	6. Chapter 6

Paul sat in the garden reading until late into the evening. It wasn’t long past midsummer, and still much lighter outside than it would have been reading by candlelight. The book was so interesting that it hardly felt like work at all. Paul didn’t know any dragons apart from Gardas (and Perdita, but she hadn’t learnt how to take dragon-form yet) and the small red dragons that people kept to catch pigeons and rabbits, or round up sheep. But this book gave a whole list.

Different types of dragon weren’t actually different species, it turned out, and you could have several different colours and sizes within one family. Gold females were the biggest, then silver females (or Greys, as the book called them). Bronze and Brown males came next, then Green females, Blue and Black males, and finally the Gules (red) females, who were much smaller and less intelligent than the other varieties. Females always chose males smaller than themselves to breed with. A Gold would mate only with a Bronze, and might have a mixture of Gold and Grey daughters and Bronze and Brown sons. A Grey would typically mate with either a Bronze or a Brown, and have Grey, Bronze, Brown and Green offspring, although she could breed with a Blue or Black and have children in any or all colours from Grey through to Gules. A Green would be likely to mate with a Blue (or, more rarely, a Black) and have Green, Blue, Black and Gules offspring. 

Gules dragons, although physically female (as you could tell by their straight horns, in contrast to Gardas’s curved horns) seemed to be infertile. By the sound of it, other dragons didn’t see the Gules as fellow-dragons, but as family pets. They were kind to any Gules offspring they had, but didn’t mind selling them to humans, if they were confident that the human would treat them kindly.

Come to think of it, Paul realised, this explained a lot about Woadhill. Apart from being the shopping town where wizards came to buy their magical supplies (a few of the younger witches visited it from time to time, but witches generally improvised with ordinary household items), and, just lately, the place where a lot of the refugee trolls had settled, it was mainly notable for the pet-shop where people bought Gules dragons, usually as hatchlings. He and Maz had visited the hatchery, with its braziers warming eggs no bigger than large potatoes, and he had sometimes overheard the woman who ran it interviewing customers to assess whether they were suitable guardians of a dragon. She was a huge woman, nearly as tall as Gardas but thickset where he was bony, and she had a bizarre hairstyle, with most of her hair shaved off and the strip down the middle dyed green and made to stand on end. Or – it occurred to Paul now – maybe her hair was naturally like that. Perhaps she was part-dragon, or even a were-dragon like Gardas, and it simply hadn’t occurred to Paul to wonder about this because she didn’t have goat-eyes like Gardas and Perdita. Or she might have been some kind of forest sprite, or any other non-human who did business with dragons, and arranged adoptions for unwanted Gules children.

The book discussed the laws on dragon ownership. In the past, humans had stolen eggs and young hatchlings of all varieties of dragon, and had used magical collars to control the minds of their dragons. After furious wars between the free dragons (sometimes assisted by humans who supported their cause) and human dragon-traders (often riding on their own collared dragons), a truce had finally been made two hundred years ago. The country of Wyrms, which was an island as large as Kernow, Ottery, Cideria and the Downs put together, had been declared a homeland for dragons where humans were forbidden to go, and all dragons who wished to avoid humans were free to go there. Cideria, Ottery and the Downs had banned ownership of all dragons other than the Gules. In Kernow, where dragons trained to sniff out valuable minerals were key to the mining industry, the human and dwarf miners had agreed on a compromise with the dragons, whereby a dragon could, if he agreed, be an indentured servant for up to forty-eight years at a time, but must be given the choice after that of whether to go free or sign up for another forty-eight. Apparently, quite a lot of freed dragons had chosen to move to Kernow, rather than to Wyrms.

Paul wondered why anyone would choose to be a slave, when they could go free. Then he thought of Gardas, and the way that Gardas needed a rider to keep him under control when he was in dragon-form. Admittedly, Gardas wasn’t normal, but perhaps dragons who had been hatched out by humans, which meant they grew up thinking of humans as their parents, weren’t normal either. And fifty years sounded a horribly long time for a contract, but considering that dragons could live for nearly a thousand years, maybe it felt different, to them.

Outside Kernow, adult dragons could not be owned, but orphaned dragon children could be adopted by a human family, and must be looked after by that family up to the age of two hundred. So did that mean that Paul had to get married and have children who would look after Gardas and Perdita after he was gone? Well, maybe not. They were were-dragons, after all, and Gardas was a grown-up human (if a weird one) when he was in human form, even if he wasn’t within screaming distance of sanity when he was a dragon. Perdita was growing up at the same rate as any other child. Maybe it would be Perdita who was stuck with looking after Gardas after Paul grew old and died. Unless – if they had grown up at the usual rate, would they get old and die on the same timescale as a human, too?

The book didn’t say anything about were-dragons, including whether they were allowed to visit Wyrms. In fact, it didn’t say much about Wyrms, except that a hundred years ago, when the current Sovereign of Wyrms had taken power, she had deported all the dwarves who worked as miners there, most of whom had fled to Kernow. Since then, there had also been a large number of dragon refugees from Wyrms, notably Greys and Greens, who had settled in areas of Ottery and Cideria where there were few humans. They had caused no trouble and certainly had not harmed people or livestock, as Green dragons were vegetarian and Greys could survive on moonlight, but they seemed to have no wish to talk to humans either.

By the time Paul finally accepted that it was too dark to read and went to bed, the waning moon was rising. There were bats flitting about, and tawny owls calling ‘Hoo-hoo-hoo-hooroo!’ in response to their owlets’ calling ‘Kee-uk! Kee-uk!’ Ewes were shouting to their lambs to be quiet and go to sleep. Paul had permission to sleep in his parents’ bedroom while they were away, where he would be able to open the shutters cut into the thatched roof and get some fresh air, but it was cooler and darker in the shade of his stair-cupboard bedroom. He fell deeply asleep. No school tomorrow, and Gardas, who had gone to bed early, would be happy to do the early morning tasks like milking the goats and giving Perdita breakfast. He would understand that Paul had been studying hard and needed a lie-in.

The next thing he heard was Gardas banging on the cupboard door and bellowing ‘PAUL! WAKE UP!’

‘Whassamatter?’ mumbled Paul.

‘Perdita’s gone. Flying. I need to be in dragon, too, if we’re going to catch up. Need you on my back. Get dressed!’

‘What time is it?’ Paul mumbled.

‘Time we weren’t here. Time I was a dragon. _See you outside._ ’ The last sentence was in Dragonese – evidently, Gardas could sense that he was about to change, and was hurrying outside to do so. Paul sighed, got out of bed still dressed in yesterday’s underpants, which were all he had bothered to wear in bed in such warm weather, and padded outside. It was a beautiful summer’s day, and the sun was already high in the sky.

‘ _Steady, Gardas,_ ’ he murmured soothingly in Dragonese. ‘ _Perdita can’t be actually FLYING. She’s too young to turn into a dragon._ ’

‘ _She IS flying,_ ’ Gardas insisted. ‘ _She’s got my scale – I can feel her mind. It’s different from normal – scalier._ ’

‘ _You always say her mind feels scaly,_ ’ Paul pointed out.

‘ _Scalier than usual. And there’s more joy, too._ ’

‘ _You don’t think she’s happy normally?_ ’ Paul felt guilty. Perdita had always seemed like a cheerful little girl to him, but it wasn’t as if he spent as much time with her as Gardas did.

‘ _Normally she’s happy like a human. This is – flying-joy. I never feel like that except when I’m flying._ ’

‘ _What about when you were eating people and burning things?_ ’

‘ _That’s different. Fire-lust feels good, too, but it’s a different sort of good from flying-joy. Perdita’s feeling flying-joy, now._ ’

‘ _Well, she can’t be flying now,_ ’ said Paul reasonably. ‘ _She’s a silver dragon, isn’t she? They can only fly by moonlight._ ’

Gardas pointed his scaly snout at the moon, still a white gibbous shape in the blue sky. Of course, he was right – the moon might not cast as much light when it wasn’t full, but when it was waning, it was still visible in daylight hours. By the time it was a crescent, it would be in the sky until afternoon, and Perdita could have sixteen or seventeen hours per day to fly, compared to the four or five available at full moon.

Gardas was lashing his tail with impatience, barely able to restrain himself from taking off without a rider. The goats were butting the doors of their sheds, equally impatient to be milked. Paul let them out, then hurried back into the house to pull on trousers, socks and boots. He didn’t need a shirt on weather like today’s, but he didn’t fancy several hours of dragon-riding with nothing but underwear between himself and Gardas’s scaly armour. The goats were very bright even by goat-standards (they were a witch’s goats, after all), and would probably find a way to tell one of the neighbours they needed milking, and people could tell him off for neglecting his animals later. In the meantime, while he didn’t quite share Gardas’s anxiety about Perdita, he was very, very worried about what Gardas himself might do if he was kept waiting any longer. He scrambled onto Gardas’s back, and the dragon took off at once.

‘ _How are you feeling?_ ’ he asked, once they were in the air.

‘ _Horrible. It’s all my fault. Shouldn’t have taken that potion. Kept dreaming about Perdita, all last night, but I thought they WERE just dreams. Woke up and she wasn’t jumping on my bed demanding a story, and that was the first I knew._ ’

‘ _We’ll catch up,_ ’ said Paul soothingly. ‘ _She’s only a baby, after all – she can’t be flying THAT fast. It’s not even full moon._ ’

‘ _Faster than I can go. But she’ll have to rest, mid-morning. We’ll have a chance to catch up then._ ’ Gardas was flying faster than he had ever gone with Paul on his back, but Paul guessed that he was trying to pace himself: to force himself to be calm and fly at a consistent speed, when he felt like beating his wings to rags to punish himself for letting Perdita out of his sight in the first place. ‘ _It’s all my fault,_ ’ Gardas moaned again. ‘ _I’m just a stupid great monster!_ ’

Paul realised that saying, ‘ _Yes, it is, and you are,_ ’ wouldn’t be exactly helpful, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Still, he was there to keep Gardas on an emotionally even keel. Instead, he tried making up a song, to the same tune as ‘Peasants in the Village’ but with kinder words:

_You’re a monster made of stardust._

_You’re a monster the Creator made._

_You’re a monster made of stardust_

_And I love you all the same._

_You’re a human and a dragon_

_And a hero, and a flippin’ loony,_

_And we’re all made out of stardust_

_And our lives are worth the same._

Somehow, it was always easier to be kind to Gardas when he was in dragon-form. Gardas as a dad was just weird and embarrassing. Gardas as a dragon was a better pet than a horse or a dog could ever be.


	7. Chapter 7

Gardas hadn’t stayed in dragon-form for so long in one go since the days when he belonged to Azalar, and he hadn’t felt so balanced and, well, normal in dragon-form, ever. He had certainly never felt so happy, with this combination of a dragon’s _flying-joy_ and a human’s wonder at being able to look down on the tops of trees and hills. Most of the area they were flying over now was forested, though he could smell the sea in the distance. He didn’t even need Paul’s presence on his back to keep him sane; Perdita’s presence was within him, speaking to him through the scale that she was presumably holding in her mouth. Or possibly she’d swallowed it, but he didn’t think so, or he’d have felt a jolt of her surprise and anxiety. Instead, she was projecting _flying-joy_ , and excitement and curiosity, and affection and a sense of carefulness – perhaps because she was making a conscious effort to keep the scale safe, and remembering whose scale it was. 

Gardas himself, now that he’d calmed down from the initial shock of finding Perdita gone, wasn’t particularly anxious. He could feel Perdita growing tired as the moon finally set. They could gain on her throughout the day, and in the meantime, nothing about Perdita’s feelings suggested that she was in any danger. And after all, how many creatures were really likely to attack a dragon? While they caught up with her, he could relax and enjoy the journey.

‘ _Paul_ ,’ he said, ‘ _have you ever noticed how there are different colours of green?_ ’

‘ _Different shades, you mean?_ ’ said Paul, sounding rather bored, but not dismissing the comment out of hand, the way he probably would have done if Gardas was in human form and they were speaking Westron instead of Dragonese.

‘ _Yes, and different colours. I mean – some colours just are or they aren’t – they don’t have different shades…_ ’

‘ _Like black and white?_ ’ suggested Paul.

‘ _No, those aren’t colours. Black is the absence of colour, and white is – well, it’s the material colours are made out of. Or the shell you break open to find colours inside. In a rainbow, you can see all the colours that are in white, spread out: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet and octarine – can you see octarine, still?_ ’

‘ _Yes, I can,_ ’ said Paul, sounding faintly surprised at realising this. ‘ _In rainbows I can, anyway. I thought only wizards could see the Eighth Colour, so I assumed I wouldn’t be able to when I’d lost my magic. But – I don’t know, maybe Cideria has such thick, strong rainbows that even non-wizards can see it?_ ’

‘ _I don’t know. But I can still see it, too. But anyway, I wasn’t talking about black and white. I meant – well, red just is red, isn’t it? If it was any lighter, it would be pink, or if it was any yellower, it would be orange. You can say people are “red in the face” when you mean pink, or talk about a “robin redbreast” when you mean it’s got orange feathers, but they aren’t RED red. And yellow just is the colour of egg-yolk, or dandelions – can you imagine a dark yellow, so dark it’s nearly black?_ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ Paul admitted. ‘ _But you can have pale yellow, can’t you? Like butter or cheese, or primroses?_ ’

‘ _That’s not really YELLOW yellow,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _But you can have shades of blue all the way through from so pale blue it’s nearly white, to so dark blue it’s nearly black. But green – green’s different. It doesn’t just have its roots in dark green and its buds in pale green. It stretches out its branches on either side, from green so yellowish it’s nearly yellow, to green so bluish it’s nearly turquoise. And brown – you can have all kinds of brown, too: bright brown and dull brown, reddish-brown and greyish-brown and yellowish-brown and even purplish-brown. And…_ ’

But at this moment, something jolted his thoughts back to the present. Perdita. Perdita startled, then friendly, curious and delighted, as if she’d made a new friend (did this mean she was running off with some stranger? _Don’t you dare hurt her or I’ll grill you to charcoal!_ ). And then, the scale was simply not there. It wasn’t just that Perdita had dropped it. Gardas realised that ever since he had chipped off that scale, he had been able to feel that it was somewhere around, and able to sense which direction it was in, even if no-one was actually touching it and broadcasting emotions through it. Now, the scale seemed to have popped out of existence altogether.

Well, no need to worry Paul, he told himself. He could still go on flying to where the scale had been, which was presumably where Perdita still was. She wouldn’t be able to fly any more, and she wouldn’t get far walking, either as a dragon or as a small human child with no clothes or shoes on. She’d be tired – but then, her new ‘friend’ might take advantage of her exhaustion in order to kidnap her. Someone who could magic a dragon-scale out of existence might be able to do anything. But at least if they were on the ground, he’d be able to track them by scent – not that he could move easily through a thick forest.

‘ _Never mind all that_ ,’ he said curtly. ‘ _We need to get a move on._ ’

He flew on the same course as before, until he saw a clearing below him which looked like a place where a suddenly tired dragon might have landed. Sure enough, as he flew closer he could see footprints in the muddy ground. There were four sizes of footprints, but only two sets of tracks. One began as the claw-prints of a dragon not much smaller than Gardas, and changed abruptly into the prints of a small child. The scent on these dragon-tracks matched the scent Gardas had smelled just outside the house before he took off, earlier this morning, and, when they grew human, they were so overwhelmingly familiar as the scent of human Perdita, whom he had loved and cared for ever since she was a baby, that he wanted to nuzzle the scent, wanted to intertwine his neck and tail with its neck and tail, wanted to fold his front paws around it and keep it safe. And he couldn’t, of course.

The other tracks began as the prints of a small dragon, probably about the size of a fox. Gardas didn’t recognise the individual from the smell, but he could smell that it was a Gules dragon – not that any other variety would be that small anyway. These also changed into barefoot human footprints, but, instead of shrinking, grew into the prints of an adult woman. The scent here was very familiar, too – one Gardas had smelled many times when dropping Paul off at school, and, most recently, in the King’s Head a couple of days earlier. Maz.

The two tracks walked side by side, and it didn’t look as if Maz had been dragging Perdita to anywhere she didn’t want to go, let alone picking her up and carrying her off. As Gardas landed and sniffed more closely, he couldn’t smell any fear on Perdita’s tracks, nor any predatory intent on Maz’s.

Paul climbed off his back to inspect the tracks himself. ‘ _Another were-dragon,_ ’ he said.

‘ _Yes. Not an enemy, only…_ ’

‘ _Only the tracks disappear all of a sudden,_ ’ said Paul. The point they were leading to was still over muddy ground, so it wasn’t as if Perdita’s and Maz’s feet would have ceased to leave prints, but the smell stopped abruptly in any case.

‘ _If they were in human form, could another dragon have carried them off?_ ’ asked Paul. _‘Or another big creature? A griffin?_ ’

‘ _I don’t know. I mean, yes, obviously it COULD, but I don’t know if it DID. It could have been someone on a broom. Or anything._ ’

‘I should have been here to stop them,’ said Paul, in Westron. ‘I should have been with Perdita. I wish I had.’

And then he disappeared, too.

That was IT? You could locate Perdita just by wishing you were with her? Gardas tried saying, ‘ _I wish I was with Perdita,_ ’ but nothing happened. He roared it louder, and then, ‘ _I wish I was with Paul,_ ’ and, ‘ _I wish Paul and Perdita were back here,_ ’ and, ‘ _I wish we were all back home,_ ’ and, ‘ _I wish I’d stayed alert and kept an eye on Perdita,_ ’ and then, after a while, he didn’t know what he was wishing for, and just roared.

He was hungry. A deer came bounding past, and he blew a jet of flame which roasted it before it even knew it was dead. He devoured the roast meat, bones and all.

He couldn’t remember why he was in the forest. He used to live with a human once, he knew that. A bad human, who had made him do bad things. He thought there had been nice humans, too, sometimes, but humans were strange creatures and it was safest to keep away from them. Best to be here in the forest, with deer to eat, and the sunlight falling through the trees, and being only himself alone, with no name but that, and with a long journey to fly. There was a song about such things, he remembered, and he had thought it was a beautiful song once, but now he was _in_ the song, not sitting at a human’s fireside, listening to the song as he mended a torn pair of trousers and drank his tea. But hadn’t the stitching, and the tea, and the song itself, been in the song too? He had only half of it out here. But it was the half a dragon needed, and he was a dragon. Maybe he’d dreamed he was human once, but that must have been just something the humans tricked him into thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, can you guess which song Gardas was half-remembering?


	8. Chapter 8

Paul found himself in a room full of a random assortment of low, soft armchairs at low tables around knee-height, and wooden chairs at tables that would have been a comfortable height for eating a meal. None of them quite matched, but most of them were decorated in one way or another, with pictures either painted on them or made of a mosaic of bits of coloured paper, with some kind of varnish painted over the top. It was a surprisingly light room, lighter than anywhere he had been except a wizard’s building with the ceiling enchanted to look like the daytime sky. This didn’t have that kind of enchantment, though there were strange murals painted on the walls, of a girl with long straight hair and a man in a bizarre-looking hat drinking tea alongside a giant hare and dormouse. But the strange thing was that he could see so clearly. There were no candles or oil lamps, but bright globes hanging from the ceiling that looked as though they could have been magic. 

But most of the light was coming from the windows. These reached from near the ceiling to near the floor of one side of the room, and were all made of glass – the clearest, most flawless glass he had ever seen. Through it he could see a busy road through a town, with no horses in sight. Instead, people were being rolled along in metal boxes that moved by themselves which could only be Cars, or on thin metal frames that must be Bicycles. Paul had read about these machines in the role-player’s handbook Maz had lent him, but surely cars couldn’t exist in real life? Bicycles had been so briefly described in the rule-book, without even an illustration, that he hadn’t been sure whether to imagine them as magical horses or as brooms that didn’t rise more than three feet above the ground, so that the riders had to kick them along with their feet. Now that he could actually see people riding them, they somehow seemed more believable than Cars – in spite of the fact that it was impossible for something that shape to balance upright.

He decided to try to make sense of the room he was in. It was obviously some kind of drinking-place, even if it looked very different from the King’s Head or the Knight & Dragon or any other tavern he had ever been into. Many of the drinks people had in front of them were served in mugs made of glass, too, which suggested that it must be a place for the very wealthy – and the range of colours of their clothes, from pure white to bright colours that could only come from expensive dyes, and blacks or dark blues that would take a _lot_ of dye, confirmed this. Those who weren’t drinking beer, milk or fruit juice out of glass were pouring themselves tea from teapots that looked as strange as everything else. Some were a normal round shape, only decorated to look like plump cats, with a paw for the spout, the tail for the handle, and the head for the lid. Others were shaped like houses, beehives, chickens, armchairs, and, in one case, a linen-draped table with a tea-service laid out on it, not to mention some in the shape of things Paul had never seen before.

‘So,’ said a voice behind him, ‘you managed to keep some clothes on, then?’

It was a male voice, with a Downsland accent. Paul turned and saw a thin man with light brown hair and beard, sitting in one of the plush armchairs. He was bare-chested, and wearing a pair of tight-fitting blue trousers. On his feet, he had soft-looking shoes made of some sort of fabric, with spongy rubber soles. They wouldn’t be nearly as hard-wearing as Paul’s boots, but the socks underneath them looked smoother and more comfortable than Paul’s hand-knitted woollen socks. The man also had the outline of a pattern like a dragon’s scales running all over his torso, and when he leaned forward to look curiously at Paul, he showed the shape of folded wings on his back. They looked like ink lines drawn on him – or like the tattoos Paul had seen in old pictures of druids – but Paul could imagine that, when the man took dragon-form, they would easily become real scales and wings. So, not all were-dragons had goat-eyes, then?

Maz was sitting in the chair next to the man, with Perdita sitting on her lap. Perdita wore a garment which made a short, baggy dress for her and would have made – in fact, probably had made – a short-sleeved shirt for the man who was now bare to the waist. It was black and had ‘Keep clam and open a fishmonger’s’ written across the front in white paint. Maz was wearing an odd, ill-fitting dress which was dyed in assorted different colours and had bits of mirrored glass sewn to it. It was, Paul realised, in a similar style to a number of other odd-looking garments on a rack behind them. They were barefoot, too, and muddy.

On the table was a divination board, and a bag which evidently held the divination tiles. The board seemed a cheap one, made of coarse cardboard instead of a rare hardwood or some rich metal, but the tiles were the most perfectly regular that Paul had ever seen. Usually, divination tiles were carved out of bone, and tended to be slightly irregular in shape and size, but these were identical nearly-square rectangles, each very slightly taller than it was wide, and each with a letter carved precisely in the middle of the tile.

Like everyone at the wizarding school in the Walled City back in the Downs, Paul’s first ever divination lesson had been how to use spelling tiles. You drew them out of the bag seven at a time, and the assortment you drew out could foretell the future, while the pattern in which you arranged them on the board could actually change what happened. Seven-letter or eight-letter words carried immense arcane power, but short, two-letter words made it possible to join two longer words and create an even more powerful spell. Trainee wizards were made to memorise short two-letter and three-letter words that worked in this way, which was why they were taught chants to remind them of the more obscure ones. The ‘[do-re-mi](https://www.bing.com/videos/search?pc=COSP&ptag=N1117D060818AE20BDC3E2E&conlogo=CT3210127&q=Youtube+Do-Re-Mi&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCOSP%26ptag%3dN1117D060818AE20BDC3E2E%26form%3dCONMHP%26conlogo%3dCT3210127%26q%3dYoutube%2bDo-Re-Mi&view=detail&mmscn=vwrc&mid=1A5431341F426230E25D1A5431341F426230E25D&FORM=WRVORC)’ chant was the first that the teacher taught everyone, but then, teenagers being teenagers, the young wizards would start to invent their own, more ribald versions in the dormitories. The teachers pretended to disapprove, but never actually punished pupils for singing them, as long as they remembered how to spell the words. One popular version ran:

Dzo: a yak, that’s crossed with cow –

Jo: a word that means ‘sweetheart’ –

Ox: the beast, that pulls the plough –

Ex: the girl from whom I part –

Sex: a thing I’d like to try –

Pox – from pleasure follows woe –

Ka – my soul from me doth fly

And is reborn as a dzo.

Paul didn’t intend to teach Perdita that version just yet, but they had all sung her the official version as a nursery rhyme. She didn’t even know it was about divination – or rather, Paul corrected himself, she hadn’t known anything about divination until now.

‘How did we get here?’ he hissed.

‘No idea,’ said the man. ‘I didn’t even think magic worked, in this world. I didn’t intend it to, when I made it.’

‘Then why do they have divination tiles here?’ Paul asked, ignoring the bigger questions the man’s statement had raised.

‘Oh, I just thought it would be funny if they used them for a game here, without having any idea what they were really for,’ said the man. ‘My name’s Martin, by the way.’

‘I’m Paul.’

‘You’re from the Downs, too, aren’t you?’ said Martin.

‘I was. So’s Perdita, originally. We moved to Cideria when I was thirteen and Perdita was a baby.’

‘Refugees?’

‘Sort of. I mean – not from Azalar, he’d been defeated, but – well, they didn’t like dragons or were-dragons, after what had happened, and Perdita…’

‘Quite noticeable, with those eyes, aren’t you?’ said Martin, smiling at the little girl, who smiled back shyly. ‘I was lucky – I could get away with it as long as I kept my shirt on.’

‘The shirt Perdita’s wearing?’

‘Well, I wore a long-sleeved shirt back home, just to be on the safe side. This T-shirt and the jeans and trainers were a present from the Salvation Army – they’re not warriors, it’s just a group of religious people who help the poor…’

‘You mean, like nuns?’

‘Well, they can get married, but sort of like nuns, I suppose. Anyway, people give them old clothes that have still got a bit of wear in them, and they give them to anyone who needs them. But anyway, round here, people just assume the pattern on my back is a tattoo, and take no notice.’

‘They have lots of druids and shamans here?’

‘No, none at all. I decided not to have any magic in this world.’

‘Then how do Bicycles stay up?’ Paul protested.

‘Physics.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It means “something that sounds suspiciously like magic but we’re not going to call it magic,”’ Martin admitted. ‘It’s how the Aeroplanes fly, too.’

‘Should we be talking about all this out loud?’ protested Maz.

‘Why not?’ said Martin cheerfully. ‘Listen to the conversations all around you.’

At the next table, a group of people were playing what looked very like a role-playing game. He heard someone say, ‘Okay, Ollie is a dragonborn paladin called Orlajhan Kuuthtexuul, Pete is a half-orc fighter called Khog the Tormented, Brian is a dwarf rogue called Dussatin Hardriver, and Carol is a half-elf wizard called Cortelar Oritoris. So, Carol, what spells have you got on your list?’

On another table, someone was reading out a story. As they finished it, one of their companions said, ‘Look, I know there’s been a fad for girl-meets-vampire romance ever since “Twilight”, but you need to work harder at making it believable.’

Martin grinned. ‘I know it’s ridiculously recursive,’ he said, ‘but I decided that if magic didn’t exist in the world I was inventing, then people in that world would tell fantasy stories about it, the same way we have fantasy games like Cars & Computers. The girl in that picture there is one of the heroes of their legends – she fell down a rabbit-hole into a strange world with magic potions and people turning into animals, but then she woke up and found out that it was all a dream. And besides, if I try to tell people I’m really a wizard and a were-dragon back home, and that I made this world, all that happens is that they think I’m mad.’

‘But then couldn’t you get locked up?’ Paul asked.

‘There aren’t enough padded cells available,’ said Martin. ‘This place is stiff with lunatics, so nobody notices one more.’

‘I notice you still haven’t answered my question from before Paul came,’ said Maz.

‘What was that?’ Paul asked.

‘Why the tiles do anything at all.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Martin, ‘but it might take a bit longer to explain.’


	9. Chapter 9

The dragon wasn’t sure what he was looking for. It wasn’t food; he’d just eaten. Flying? Flying was good, but he didn’t know where he was flying to. Another dragon? He could smell that there had been other dragons here: females, a Gules and a Grey. But they were gone now, and he couldn’t smell any trace of them. The Grey had been someone he loved, and the Gules had been someone he hoped would like him, too. But they’d gone away, because nobody liked Black dragons. The Gules were frightened of them because they were big and scary, and everyone else laughed at them because they were small and weak. Even a baby Grey was as big as a full-grown Black dragon.

He thought he could remember that the Grey was someone he used to look after, a long time ago when he was grown up. But that was silly. How could he be grown up? He was only thirty. He wished he had a mother to look after him. He thought he could remember a human who had been like a mother to him, even though she was his age and she was… he couldn’t remember. But that was silly, too. Humans didn’t like Black dragons, because they breathed cursed fire that killed the ground it burned, not like Grey dragons with their magic healing fire.

Well, if everyone hated him, he didn’t care! He was alone in a wood and he could breathe fire as much as he liked. There had been a boy once, who used to say to him, ‘ _Down, boy, whoa there, don’t burn the forest down._ ’ But now he could…

_No, that’s not a good idea._

Where did that voice come from? Was the boy around? No, no humans any more. Was there another dragon? No, he couldn’t smell one. He must have imagined it. Why shouldn’t he burn the whole forest away?

_Because if you do, there won’t be any deer next time you’re hungry._

‘ _Who are you?_ ’ he asked.

_Gardas._

The dragon thought he could remember that name. He thought it had been his name, once. ‘ _Who am I, then?_ ’ he asked.

‘ _That’s a good question. Xanthus said I ought to give you a name. Do you remember Xanthus?_ ’

The dragon tried to remember. It seemed a long time ago, but he thought he could remember someone called Xanthus. ‘ _Was he a horse?_ ’ he said.

‘ _Nearly. He’s a centaur. He’s a mind-healer, and he was – trying to help me work out what to do about being cut off from you. Do you remember that? When I lost my magic?_ ’

Now the dragon remembered, and the pain was so terrible that it made fire well up in him. He was about to burn all the oaks around him into ash (or possibly burn the ashes into smoke), when Gardas, blast him, said urgently, ‘ _No! Not the trees!_ ’ and so the dragon kept his mouth shut and pinched his nostrils tight, and the fire burned inside him and hurt. He whimpered, and put his head under his wing for comfort.

‘ _YOU cut me off!_ ’ the dragon said. ‘ _You gave me to Azalar!_ ’

‘ _I gave myself to Azalar. We were the same person then, remember?_ ’

‘ _But you only did it because you didn’t like the ME bit of you,_ ’ the dragon pointed out. ‘ _You wanted Azalar to make me go away, so you gave yourself to him. But he DIDN’T make me go away! He made YOU go away so he could tell me what to do. Why couldn’t YOU be there to tell me when Azalar was wrong?_ ’

Gardas was silent for a long time, and the dragon wondered if he was really real, or just a silly thought in a hatchling’s head. But eventually, Gardas said, ‘ _You’re right. I was frightened of you. I didn’t know what you were. I thought you were the bad part of me. But I did bad things myself, even without you being there. And I told myself that I already belonged to Azalar, because I was his slave. But if I’d told a teacher about the things Azalar made me do, they’d have taken me away from him and told Azalar’s parents he wasn’t fit to have a slave, and then – then I’d have had a different life, and maybe so would Azalar. And if I’d talked to the teachers about you, maybe someone would have known a bit about were-dragons, and explained to me what you were. Little dragon, I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?_ ’

The dragon wasn’t sure how to answer that. ‘ _We used to be the same person,_ ’ he said. ‘ _But then Auric cut us apart. So what are we now?_ ’

Gardas considered again for a long time. ‘ _I think we’re brothers,_ ’ he said. ‘ _You know how sometimes humans have two babies at the same time, and they’re called twins? Sometimes they’re just two babies conceived at the same time, but sometimes they were conceived as one, and then the one unborn child split into two, and that’s when the twins are identical. But – sometimes they don’t divide all the way, and they’re born still joined together. So they have to do everything together, but they might be fixed so that they can’t look each other in the face. But if someone cuts them apart – if they can survive being cut apart at all – then they’ll be able to look each other in the eye, and decided whether to be together or apart. That’s what Auric did. We’d already started splitting apart, but he finished the job off. And that means we can talk to each other, now._ ’

‘ _That wasn’t what he meant to do_ ,’ the dragon pointed out.

‘ _No,_ ’ Gardas admitted. ‘ _He was punishing me, but he was trying to stop me from getting into more trouble. He didn’t understand what you were. Neither did I, then._ ’

‘ _He was frightened of me, too,_ ’ said the dragon. ‘ _But Beatrice isn’t, ever. And Paul isn’t, any more. He likes me more than he likes you,_ ’ he added smugly.

‘ _Only because he can tell you what to do,_ ’ Gardas pointed out.

‘ _He wouldn’t need to, if YOU told me what to do,_ ’ the dragon retorted. ‘ _I need a master, but not a human. Not Paul, not Beatrice. Not even a kobold, like Eski. I need YOU to be my master._ ’

‘ _Why do I need to be your master?_ ’ Gardas objected. ‘ _Why can’t we just be brothers?_ ’

‘ _Because you’re a grown-up,_ ’ the dragon pointed out.

‘ _I suppose I am,_ ’ Gardas sighed. ‘ _I don’t FEEL very grown up, but I suppose a thirty-year-old human is more grown up than a thirty-year-old dragon._ ’

‘ _Master, what are you going to name me?_ ’ the dragon asked again.

Gardas considered. ‘ _Beatrice told me a story once, about a man who was cursed with an evil shadow,_ ’ he said. ‘ _The shadow made everything it fell on seem boring and ugly instead of new and amazing and beautiful, and sometimes it made him hurt people…_ ’

‘ _Was that the story with the castle with the magic swimming-pool in it?_ ’ interrupted the dragon. ‘ _And the cottage with four doors that went into different worlds?_ ’

‘ _Do you listen to human stories, then?_ ’ asked Gardas. ‘ _Even when I’m in human form?_ ’

‘ _I’m always there, even when we’re human,_ ’ the dragon pointed out. ‘ _Just like you’re always there watching, even when we’re the dragon. I don’t always listen to stories, if they’re boring. But I liked the bit about the magic swimming-pool._ ’

‘ _Well, yes, but about the shadow,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _After the man was finally freed of his curse, he was horrified the next time he looked and saw that he still had a shadow. But then he realised that it wasn’t the cursed shadow any more, just a normal shadow like everyone else’s. And – I’ve been treating you as if you’re a curse, instead of a normal part of me. So – can I name you Shadow?_ ’

‘ _Shadow,_ ’ said the dragon experimentally, rolling the sounds around his terrible jaws with their terrible teeth. ‘ _Shaaa – DOH! Shadowshadowshadowshadowshadow!_ ’ He soared up out of the clearing, and flew round and round in the air, chasing his tail until he was exhausted and landed on the floor of the forest clearing again. ‘ _I like that name,_ ’ he said. ‘ _Why are you called Gardas?_ ’

‘ _I used to think it was because I was there to protect people who were smaller and weaker than I was,_ ’ Gardas said. ‘ _First the other children in the potions farm, when I was young, and then Paul and Perdita, when I was older. But now I know I’m supposed to guard you, too, to stop you from misbehaving. I know I haven’t done very well in the past. But I’ll try to do better now._ ’

‘ _I’m supposed to guard you, too,_ ’ said the dragon. ‘ _You’re older than me, but I’m bigger than you. We’ll look after each other._ ’


	10. Chapter 10

Gardas (or Shadow, or Gardas and Shadow, or Gardas-Shadow) had been flying for a few hours when he/they (Gardas had never before thought that grammar would be the most difficult part of being a were-dragon) caught the scent of another dragon. ‘ _She smells sad,_ ’ Shadow announced.

‘ _We’d better see if we can help,_ ’ Gardas replied, and they circled down to the clearing where a dragon slumped on the ground, leaning over on her left side. Even collapsed, she was much bigger than Shadow/Gardas, and they could see that, if she was standing, she would be taller still. Instead of scales, she had long, moss-green fur which made Gardas wish he could write proper poetry instead of just nonsense-rhymes, and made Shadow want to snuggle his muzzle into it. She had two heads, the right-hand one with eyes red as rowan berries, and the other with eyes yellow as celandines. The red-eyed head bared its teeth in a snarl at the approaching dragon, while the yellow-eyed head looked curious and thoughtful.

‘ _She’s pretty,_ ’ said Shadow. Gardas wasn’t sure whether he agreed. If he had seen a human, or a cow or any other non-magical creature, with two heads, his immediate response would have been horror and disgust, before he reminded himself sternly that the two people sharing a body were in a difficult situation and had to make the best of it, and that after all, people can’t help how they’re made. But somehow, it felt much more natural and less alarming that a magical creature should have more than one head, just as he had four legs and two wings when in dragon-form, and Xanthus had four legs and two arms. No, in this case, the problem was that this dragon had only two heads, and that where the left-hand head should be, there was only a blackened stump.

The red-eyed head readied itself to shoot a jet of flame at Shadow/Gardas, but the yellow-eyed head grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and jerked it backwards, so that the flames shot into the sky instead (narrowly missing the branches overhead). ‘ _Prue, try to live up to your name for once in your life!_ ’ hissed Yellow-Eyes, without letting go of Red-Eyes’ neck. ‘ _If we provoke him and he wants to fight, where are we going to go?_ ’

‘ _Oh, well done! Blab about our weaknesses after you’ve stopped me getting the first shot in!_ ’ retorted Red-Eyes. ‘ _You’re a living refutation of the saying that two heads are better than one!_ ’

‘ _What happens if they burn each other off?_ ’ asked Shadow, intrigued rather than alarmed at the prospect.

‘ _I think it’s already happened once,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _She’s lost her left head, and I think that’s why she can’t walk, or fly._ ’ The muddy ground on the Green dragon’s right was clawed up as if she had tried to drag herself along, but had found her own weight too much for her. Her left legs splayed out to the side, and her left wing dangled limply, though the other one was twitching with agitation. The dragon’s long fur was caked with mud.

‘ _Who are you talking to?_ ’ demanded the red-eyed head, the one called Prue.

‘ _Oh, just thinking aloud,_ ’ said Gardas. Prue was suspicious enough already, and he had no way of knowing how she felt about were-dragons, let alone a were-dragon with a split personality even in just the one head.

‘ _It’s the first sign of madness, you know,_ ’ sneered Prue.

‘ _No,_ ’ sighed the yellow-eyed dragon, ‘ _the first sign of madness is burning off one of our sister heads and then finding that we’re paralysed all down one side._ ’

‘ _So? If we could still move, it’s not as if Hope had any sensible ideas about where to go!_ ’

Gardas tried to think of something helpful to say. ‘ _Can you regrow heads if you lose them?_ ’ he asked.

‘ _If they get cut off by an enemy, yes,_ ’ said the yellow-eyed head.‘ _We had to deal with that quite a bit, a couple of hundred years ago when humans used to hunt dragons. Hope insisted on trying to talk to knights and persuade them to be friends, so she was always being cut off and having to regrow. But when a dragon burns one of her own heads off, it’s lost for good, I’m afraid. Our fire is nearly as bad as a Black dragon’s – well, Prue’s is, anyway. Nothing it attacks can ever grow again. Hope had healing fire, like a Grey’s_.’

‘ _I might be able to help,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _A few years ago, I burned a young human boy, so that his arm was badly damaged and he couldn’t use it. But eventually, I found a way to heal him._ ’

‘ _You wanted to heal a HUMAN?_ ’ exclaimed Prue. ‘ _You’re as bad as Hope!_ ’

‘ _He’s my friend!_ ’ said Shadow indignantly – and it was Shadow speaking, who thought simply in terms of friends and foes, and had decided that Paul came into the ‘friends’ category, rather than Gardas, who felt uncomfortable with Paul for much of the time but knew he had a responsibility to his son. Gardas tried to regain control of the conversation. ‘ _Anyway, Black dragons have blood that heals, so I bit myself and bled all over Paul’s burnt arm, and it healed perfectly. I’ve donated blood a few times since then, to restore land I’d blighted. I don’t know whether I can heal burns from another dragon, but I can try._ ’

He held up his foreleg so that the two Green heads could see his missing scale. The skin underneath was smooth and soft, not covered in scars. He healed quickly and cleanly.

‘ _You had all that armour and you deliberately gave yourself a vulnerable spot?_ ’ jeered Prue.

‘ _It makes sense,_ ’ said the other head. ‘ _He balances himself out, the way you and Hope used to._ ’

‘ _Thank you,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _I’m Gardas, by the way – Gardas Shadow. What’s your name?_ ’

‘ _Hero,_ ’ said the yellow-eyed head. ‘ _And, as the head nearest to Hope, I would be very grateful if you could heal her – if you’re sure it won’t take too much blood. Unless you don’t trust him, Prue?_ ’

‘ _I don’t think he’s a threat,_ ’ sneered Prue. ‘ _Anyone stupid enough to show us a gap in his scales is too stupid to double-cross us._ ’

Gardas scrambled up onto his hind legs, propping his upper body and forelegs on the Green dragon’s body so that he could reach the burnt neck. With a talon of his other forepaw, he ripped the skin of his exposed spot. A slight scratch or graze wouldn’t be enough for an injury as severe as Hope’s, he could tell. He tore at himself again, hard enough to reach the underlying blood vessels. Blood spurted out, drenching the burnt, furless stump. Gardas felt weak, though he hoped it was just his imagination. He couldn’t have lost enough blood yet to faint, surely? Back when he was fighting for Azalar, he must have been in battles against humans where he had lost far more from stab wounds or wizards’ spells, and never even worried about it. But of course, in those days he had been able to return to human-form immediately after the battle, at which the traces of dragon-blood left on his skin would heal the wound. And after he lost his magic, Beatrice had been there to turn him back to human form whenever he had donated blood in dragon-form. The last time he had been wounded without Beatrice being there, Paul had been on hand to bandage him. No Paul and no Beatrice now.

He tried pressing his good paw across the injured leg to stop the bleeding, but it barely slowed it down. He began to feel himself slumping when he sensed that the blood was doing its job. The charred stump was growing into a grassy hillock, not nearly as long as the other two necks, and, as he watched, features began to appear on the end: a blunt, broad muzzle like a puppy’s; two floppy, folded ears; two gooseberry-green eyes opened wide; and even the buds of tiny horns. The muzzle opened, revealing a toothless mouth with a pointed green tongue.

‘ _Hello,_ ’ it asked. ‘ _Will you be my friend?_ ’

‘ _Gladly, lady,_ ’ Gardas managed. ‘ _Uh – is there any chance you could breathe some fire on my arm, here?_ ’ He realised too late that he should have said ‘ _foreleg,_ ’ but Hope took no notice.

‘ _All right!_ ’ she said happily, and tried huffing on his wound, but no fire came out. Of course, she had been reborn, so she wouldn’t be old enough to breathe fire yet. ‘ _Maybe I should lick it instead,_ ’ she suggested, and did that. The wound didn’t close up instantly, but it stopped pumping blood so vigorously, and Hope’s soft, wet, warm tongue soothed the pain a little.

‘ _Can we go flying now?_ ’ Shadow asked.

‘ _Yes!_ ’ said Hope excitedly, as Prue snapped, ‘ _No, of course not!_ ’ The Green dragon struggled to her feet, and tried to flap both wings, but the left one was flopping about randomly, unable to get into rhythm with the other.

‘ _I think we need to rest first,_ ’ said Hero firmly. ‘ _You, too, noble Gardas Shadow. You need to give that cut time to heal._ ’

‘ _You’ll need food,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _When did you last eat?_ ’ The Green dragon didn’t reply. ‘ _I’ll catch you a deer._ ’

‘ _We don’t eat DEER!_ ’ exclaimed Hope, laughing at the absurdity of the idea.

‘ _What do you eat, then?_ ’ Gardas asked.

‘ _Leaves and twigs, mostly,_ ’ explained Hero. ‘ _We ate as much of the grass as we could reach, once we were grounded, but we prefer trees._ ’

‘ _Your wish is my command,_ ’ said Gardas, and began to fly up. He felt weak and tired, and had to beat his wings much harder than usual to stay airborne. He wasn’t in any condition to hover, and tried to catch hold of an ash tree for long enough to bite a few branches off it, but the whole tree came crashing down, nearly cracking Prue on the head. 

‘ _Watch what you’re doing, you clumsy oaf!_ ’ she hissed.

‘ _Poor tree!_ ’ said Hope. ‘ _You didn’t need to kill it!_ ’

Gardas hung his head in shame.

‘ _It’s a very generous meal, and it’ll feed us for days while we recover,_ ’ said Hero.

‘ _There’ll be room for more trees to grow where it fell, won’t there?_ ’ said Hope, trying to live up to her name, though her green eyes were still tearful over the fate of the felled tree.

‘ _If it fell over that easily, it deserved to die,_ ’ said Prue. ‘ _But you didn’t need to throw it at me._ ’

‘ _We ought to say a prayer for the dead before we eat it, anyway,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _It deserves that much respect._ ’

All three green heads turned to look at Gardas, who tried to think of something to say and settled on: ‘ _Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May the fire from this fuel burn brave and just._ ’

The three heads began to feed. Hope, who was on the shortest neck and furthest from the leafy end of the tree, struggled to reach any tasty branches, but Hero bit off bunches of leaves and twigs and passed them to her.

Gardas didn’t bother to hunt for more food for himself. The deer he had eaten was the largest meal he had eaten in one go for years, and all he wanted to do now was rest. He was about to curl his neck under his wing and go to sleep a discreet distance away from the Green dragon, but Hope said, ‘ _Do you want to sleep next to us?_ ’

‘ _We barely know him!_ ’ snapped Prue.

‘ _But he’s nice,_ ’ Hope insisted.

‘ _He’s given his blood for us – he could hardly do more to show friendship,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _But he might not want to come close, just yet. Do you want to, noble Gardas Shadow?_ ’

‘ _Yes, please!_ ’ said Shadow, and ran forward before Gardas could object. He curled up, nestled against the Green dragon’s left, so that he could snuggle under the wing controlled by Hope, and be as far from Prue as possible. Gardas noticed that, close to, the Green dragon’s body-fur was more like soft, downy feathers, even if her wings didn’t have the long flight-feathers of a bird. The spines on her back were almost hidden by her down, like tree-roots barely poking through grass. She was – and he meant no disrespect to Perdita – the cuddliest dragon he had ever met.

Except, of course, that some of her personalities were anything but cuddly. The Green dragon’s multiple personalities reminded him of the demon in his favourite book, _How to Train Your Demon_ , who carried the memories of all her previous hosts. Reading that book, he had always wondered whether he was more like a demon, or like a demonologist who has a demon. Now he realised that he was both. Shadow was Gardas’s demon. Gardas had Shadow, and Shadow had Gardas, and sometimes one of them had more say over what happened, and sometimes the other, but they were both still there, and they needed to respect each other, not try to control or obliterate each other.

‘ _Do you have a name for all of you together?_ ’ he asked. ‘ _A sort of – family name, as well as individual names?_ ’

‘ _Like what?_ ’ growled Prue sleepily.

‘ _Uh – Trio? Trinity? Thysyrys? Thevree? Thridsyra?_ ’ Gardas was still mumbling suggestions when all five people in two bodies fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

‘I’m thirsty,’ complained Perdita.

‘Well, I haven’t got enough money for a drink,’ said Martin, irritated. ‘Just buying a dress for Maz cost me seven paper pieces.’

‘Paper pieces?’ said Paul, confused.

‘It’s what they use for large denominations of money here,’ said Paul. He dug in his pocket for the little change he had left, and held it out. ‘People hardly ever use coins made of real gold or silver in this world – just copper pieces, then paper, or a thing called _plastic_.’

‘Those coins aren’t all copper,’ Paul protested.

‘No, well, the brown ones that look like copper are copper-plated steel,’ said Martin. ‘But the grey ones that look like silver are a mixture of copper and another element called nickel, and with the ones that are silvery in the middle with a goldish ring round the edge, the goldish bit is a mixture of copper and another element called zinc, with a little nickel as well.’

‘But there are only four elements: earth, air, fire, and water,’ pointed out Maz.

‘I know there are in the real world!’ snapped Martin. ‘I just thought it’d be more interesting to make a world that had hundreds of them. Nearly every metal counts as an element, unless it’s a mixture of several elements… all right, all right, I’m a nerd! There are reasons in the history of this world why this coin’ (he handed the two-coloured coin to Maz) is called a Pound, even though it doesn’t weigh a pound and isn’t worth a pound of gold or even a pound of copper. It would probably buy about two pounds of bread or two pints of milk in a shop, but in a café like this, it won’t buy even a cup of tea. Anyway, five of these Pounds make the smallest of the paper pieces, and if I had sixty of those, I’d be able to rent a room in an actual house for a month, which means I’d have an address and be able to claim benefits, which would mean that the government would be paying me while I looked for a job, or just providing for me if they decided I was too mad to be able to work, and paying my rent as well. But I’d need to have somewhere to live in order to be paid anything, and I can’t apply for a job if I don’t have an address, and I can’t make much money if I don’t have a job.’

‘I’m thirsty,’ repeated Perdita, who hadn’t been following this conversation. ‘Can I have some juice? Please?’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Maz. Perdita nodded, accepting this as a promise, and went back to playing with the divination tiles that were left in the bag, lifting them out and stacking them one on top of the other, on the table beside the board. There were three long words already laid out on the board. The initial word had been PERDITA. Above it was written MARYSUE, with the M of MARYSUE over the A of PERDITA to form MA. Perhaps it meant that Maz had been looking after Perdita like a mother? The E of PERDITA formed the beginning of an eight-letter word: EXWIZARD.

Maz inspected the garments on the rack, and selected a shapeless black shroud made of a thin, shiny black material, with three holes cut for arms and a head, and with pictures glued all over it.

‘This one’s cheaper than the one you bought me,’ she said quietly to Martin. ‘If I told the people at the counter that I’ve changed my mind and I’d rather have this one instead, do you think they’d refund the difference? It’s not as if I’ve been wearing this dress long enough to get it noticeably sweaty.’

‘It’s worth a try,’ said Martin, examining the price-tag. ‘You do realise that black one is made out of the bags people put their rubbish in, don’t you? There’s no way it’s worth the six paper pieces they’re asking – maybe two, for the bag, the pictures, and the time to glue them together.’

‘But the pictures are incredible!’ said Maz, having examined the dozens of miniature pictures glued to the bag a bit more closely. ‘I mean, the way they’re stuck together is – well, if it was in the real world, I’d think it was dark magic – but the detail in them must have taken weeks for a skilled artist!’

‘They’re made by Photography – printed in thousands,’ said Martin carelessly. ‘They’ll just have been clipped out of old magazines people didn’t want any more – and arranged in bizarre combinations just for the fun of it, not even to work magic.’ Pictures of people, animals, plants and machines had been glued together to create bizarre images: aeroplanes with women’s breasts, people with the heads of dogs or cats, and flowers with human faces surrounded by petals.

‘Well, it costs six paper pieces, and the dress with the mirrors sewn to it cost seven,’ said Maz briskly. ‘One paper piece would be enough to buy…’ she scanned the menu, ‘one bowl of soup and a piece of bread,’ she concluded, rather disappointed.

‘Can I have apple juice? Please?’ asked Perdita.

‘I don’t know. I’ll try.’ Maz picked up the black rubbish-bag dress, took it over to the counter, and negotiated with the woman at the till. Their discussion concluded, she retreated into a side-room to change into the black bag, came back and handed the mirror-dress back, and bought a glass bottle of apple juice, with a cap that screwed onto it. ‘Be very careful not to break the bottle,’ she said to Perdita. ‘We can refill it with water, later.’

‘I won’t break it! I’ve got a clay dragon who’s a bottle,’ said Perdita. ‘When I was a baby, he had a spell on him to make more milk. But I’m not a baby now, so he’s just a dragon now, but I have to be careful so that I don’t break him. He’s called Terry Cotta, and he’s my favourite. I’ve got a cuddly dragon called Ragnar, and Gardas maked him, and I love him, too, but Terry Cotta is my favourite.’

‘Anyway, here’s your change,’ said Maz, handing Martin a couple of not-really-pounds. ‘I’m sorry it isn’t more. How do you live, if you’re not allowed to work?’

‘Playing my music in the street.’ Martin indicated a wooden pipe, a little chipped in places, with a yellowish-white mouthpiece that seemed to be made of the same material as the divination tiles. ‘It’s not strictly legal, but people usually give me a bit of money before the police can come along and tell me to stop. And I live in a hole in the ground in one of the city parks, with branches and leaves over the entrance. That’s illegal too, but at least it gives me some privacy. I tried living in a hostel for homeless people when I first came here, in the winter, but a lot of the people in there were drunkards and madmen – real madmen, not just ones like me who seemed strange because they’d come from another world – and I didn’t feel safe near them. So I moved out and dug my own home when the weather started getting warmer. I just hope I can think of a way of heating it without anyone smelling smoke and getting suspicious before it gets cold again.’

‘So you’ve been here less than a year?’ Paul asked.

‘That’s right. Eight months, so far.’

‘Where were you before?’

‘At the wizarding school in the Walled City. But then it closed down, obviously – well, no-one would be stupid enough to keep all the wizarding children in the Downs in one place, when Azalar’s trying to be the only wizard left alive – at least, if that evil Black dragon of his is really a were-dragon, I suppose it’s a wizard too, isn’t – I mean, wasn’t it?’

‘He was,’ said Paul. ‘And don’t you dare…’

‘Don’t I dare what? Run away?’ interrupted Martin indignantly. ‘You think I’m a coward, do you? You’re a refugee yourself, you admitted it! And if you’re human, the worst thing Azalar would have done to you is killed you. He was trying to turn me into another evil were-dragon minion of his – and I suppose he’d have done the same with your little sister. I was fourteen when he caught me, so I knew enough to escape and come here, but a baby would have been completely defenceless.’

Paul was distracted from his anger by trying to work out how all the pieces fitted together. ‘So – you came here eight months ago, and before that, Azalar was trying to enslave you?’

‘That’s right. Eight months here. I don’t know how long it’s been in your world, but – I was five when Azalar’s Black dragon started attacking villages, and I know Azalar was eighteen and had just left school, then.’

Paul frowned, trying to concentrate on this.

‘Time moves at different speeds in different worlds,’ Maz pointed out.

‘I know that! I was just trying to work out how much time!’ snapped Paul. ‘Uh – Azalar was thirty-two when he died, and if he was alive, he’d be thirty-five now. So if you’re thirteen years younger than Azalar, you’re twenty-two.’ Which, come to think of it, was about the age Martin looked.

‘I decided to make myself twenty-one in this world,’ Martin explained. ‘They don’t let children live on their own, or work, and I didn’t fancy being put in an orphanage.’

‘So if you went home, you’d be fourteen again?’ asked Maz. ‘Or maybe fifteen, if you’ve had a birthday in the meantime.’

‘I’m not going home,’ said Martin.

‘Why not? Okay, it’s going to be frustrating being a boy again when you’re used to being a grown-up, but won’t your parents miss you?’

‘They’re dead,’ said Martin flatly. ‘That Black were-dragon ate them when he came to take me. I went into dragon-form to fight him off when he came – and I was winning, I was much bigger than he was – but he was older and knew more about magic, and he used some spell to make me go back to human form and bind me so that I couldn’t change again. I had to watch while he ate my parents, and then he picked me up in his talons and brought me back to Azalar.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Paul. ‘He ate my foster-parents, too. But it’s all different now. Azalar’s dead.’

‘But who’s going to want a were-dragon in the Downs, now?’ retorted Martin. ‘You’ve said yourself that they don’t like were-dragons. Not after what that evil Black monster did – not to mention the Blue dragon that killed all those druids a hundred years ago, because people claim that was a were-dragon, too. Who killed Azalar, anyway?’

‘The “evil Black monster”,’ said Paul. ‘He’s my dad. He killed Azalar to protect me.’ 

For the first time, he thought he knew why Gardas looked wretched and hung his head when people called him a monster – and why he described himself that way so often. In one sense, it was undeniably true: a ‘monster’ simply meant any strange creature, such as dragons, centaurs, griffins and pegasi. But it also meant someone who was horrifically cruel and evil, someone with no compassion or remorse – and for many years, Gardas had behaved as though he was that, too. But if he truly had been a monster in that sense, he’d never have changed. And he had only ever let Azalar take control of him in the first place because he was afraid of being a monster, and hadn’t understood how much Azalar had already been manipulating him.

He wondered how many times, in the past three years, Gardas had said, ‘I’m a monster, aren’t I?’ Beatrice had told him she didn’t think he was a monster, but Paul or Auric were more likely to laugh and say, ‘Well, maybe, but you’re our monster, and we love you.’ They meant to be reassuring, and a human would have known from their expression and tone of voice that they didn’t mean it as an insult or an accusation. But Gardas wasn’t human, and he didn’t always understand how people felt, unless they were actually holding his missing scale so that he could feel their emotions directly. Generally he coped because, over the past three years, he had got a lot better at explaining in words what he thought and felt, and asking other people what they meant. That was probably because both Beatrice and Xanthus had worked so hard on teaching him to put his feelings into words – and at the same time, of course, Gardas had been bringing up a baby who was learning to talk, and could see just how important verbal communication was.

But the trouble with words is that they can mean so many different things. Gardas might well have decided to interpret, ‘You’re a monster, but you’re our monster,’ as, ‘Yes, you’re evil, but as long as you’re working for us, it’s useful to keep you with us.’ And, where a human would get angry if someone used the word for what he was as an insult, Gardas couldn’t risk letting himself get angry, because he was so dangerous and violent when he was angry, so he just accepted insults as literal truth, turned the anger on himself and got depressed instead.

Gardas didn’t have armour, Paul realised. It was a strange thing to say about someone who could turn into a huge, scaly dragon, but he didn’t have the mental armour that humans have that allows them to decide, ‘I have worth whether other people think I do or not.’ He couldn’t believe that anything critical that anyone said about him could be less than the truth, and so insults sank into him instead of bouncing off. But on the other hand, once enough insults had lodged inside his soul, they formed a barrier that made encouraging words bounce off.

Paul tried to remember whether he had ever, while holding the scale so that Gardas would know that he was telling the truth, said, ‘Gardas, I don’t think you’re a “monster” in the sense of being an evil person. I’m sorry about the times I’ve called you a monster in the past – it wasn’t kind and it wasn’t true. You’ve been manipulated into doing some bad things because you thought you were supposed to be evil, but the rest of the time, you’re a warm, loving person who’s been kind and patient with me even when I was being horrible to you, and I’m glad you’re my dad.’ If someone had apologised to Paul like that, Paul would probably have huffed with irritation at their raking up a painful subject again, and gone off to his room. But then, he was a human, and specifically a teenage boy. Gardas wasn’t, and perhaps he needed to hear those words – if Paul ever saw him again and had the chance to say them.

‘Perdita, have you got Gardas’s scale?’ he asked.

Perdita reached into her mouth and took it out. ‘Here,’ she said.

‘You’ve had that in your mouth all this time?’ said Maz, horrified. ‘You could have choked!’

‘Yes, but I didn’t choke,’ pointed out Perdita. ‘I’m not a baby!’

‘You are if you’re silly enough to put scales in your mouth,’ said Paul sternly. He tucked the scale into the pocket of his breeches.

‘You were going to tell us why divination tiles still work, even in a world with no magic,’ Maz prompted Martin.

‘Uh – on second thoughts, I don’t know,’ said Martin. ‘They just do – maybe because they’re a magical item I decided to have in this world, and even though I decided that I was going to be someone with no magical powers in this world, they seem to work for me. When anyone else plays with them, getting a seven-letter word doesn’t mean anything except that they score fifty bonus points in a game they play with them. But when I get one – well, today I was feeling lonely and miserable, and wishing there was anyone here from the real world, and when I reached into the bag, I drew out P,E,R,D,I,T,A – and when I laid the tiles on the board, a naked little girl with muddy feet turned up. So, I gave her my T-shirt, and she wanted to play with the tiles, so she reached into the bag and grabbed a handful: M,A,R,Y,S,U,E. And then a woman turned up, also naked and with muddy feet, so I grabbed one of the dresses that the craft group had been making, handed it to her to put on, and went and paid for it, and the three of us sat down and started chatting. And then Maz wanted to take her turn, and got X,W,I,Z,A,R,D. I suppose that means me.’

‘I think it means me,’ said Paul. ‘You haven’t lost your magic, just because you’re playing a character who’s a commoner, but my dad and I actually had our magic taken away. The spell could just as easily have summoned him, but as it was, it summoned me.’

‘I suppose it summons the person the player thinks of first, when they see the tiles,’ said Maz. ‘I’d forgotten about Gardas having lost his magic, too. How is Gardas, anyway?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Paul. ‘He was in dragon-form, because we were trying to find Perdita after she’d FLOWN OFF WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE,’ he added sternly to Perdita. ‘I was supposed to be keeping him company, because my parents were away and Gardas and I were supposed to look after each other. And I’ve no idea where he is, or whether he’s in trouble.’

‘Maybe you’d better take some tiles,’ said Maz. ‘It’s your turn, anyway.’

Paul reached into the bag and drew out H,O,M,E,W,A,R. He looked at them in alarm for a moment – did that mean there was a war in the Downs, or in Cideria? Then it occurred to him that he could make them mean something much more reassuring, if he chose. He laid them down from the top of the board to join onto the D of PERDITA.


	12. Chapter 12

Gardas jerked up his head in alarm, from where it lay pillowed on the Green dragon’s furry flank. ‘Paul!’ he shouted, and woke himself from his dream. Paul was there – not here, not nearby, but somewhere in this world, and Gardas had felt him through the dream, and he was bewildered and worried, and trying not to show it. And now he could feel Perdita, not worried at all, but excited and full of adventure. She felt as if she was back in human form now, anyway. They switched back and forth a couple of times: Perdita-Paul-Perdita-Paul – to let him know that they were together. Paul felt responsible and determined, and braver than Gardas had ever felt him before – and concerned and apologetic, for some reason – but still, underlying all this, afraid. Perdita began to feel a little more anxious, as though she was picking up on Paul’s unease. Then there was no further message, except a vague background hum of Paulness which meant that he must have the scale somewhere close to him. Tucked into his pocket, maybe?

Anyway, they might be in danger, and he needed to protect them. He stood up, realising as he did so that he still felt a bit weak and light-headed, and that his foreleg still hurt. Oh well, he’d be flying, not walking, so it wouldn’t matter. He flapped his wings, struggling to get airborne. Surely blood loss couldn’t be making that much difference, even now that he’d had a good night’s sleep? Well, most of a night, anyway – the sun hadn’t yet risen, which meant it was barely four o’clock. But the sky was growing lighter, and he needed to be off.

‘ _I’m hungry,_ ’ groaned Shadow. ‘ _What’s for breakfast?_ ’

‘ _Later. When we’ve found Paul and Perdita,_ ’ said Gardas. He wondered whether that was the right way to put it, even when talking to himself – after all, Shadow was the dragon side of his personality. ‘ _I don’t mean Paul is breakfast,_ ’ he said. ‘ _I mean we need to find him, in case he’s in danger. Then we can look for breakfast._ ’

‘ _But I’m hungry NOW!_ ’ protested Shadow. Gardas ignored him, forcing himself to fly in the direction the scale was calling from. To the left of where the sun was rising, which made it – he was struggling to think clearly over Shadow’s protests about being hungry and about the delicious smells of deer, rabbits, squirrels, seagulls, fish – north, that was right, he was heading north. Towards the sea. Towards Wyrms. The land of the dragons. Not a good place for a human boy, nor for a young were-dragon who might not understand that she had to keep it secret that she wasn’t always a dragon.

‘ _Where do you think you’re going?_ ’ snarled another Dragonese voice. Gardas realised that he had nearly flown into a Blue dragon considerably bigger than himself. Not as heavy and powerfully built as the Green dragon, of course – not to mention the Brown were-dragon he had once fought – but the longest, snakiest, and spikiest dragon Gardas had ever met. 

‘ _I’ve got to get to Wyrms,_ ’ Gardas said. ‘ _My children are trapped there. My son and my adopted daughter._ ’ Well, legally Beatrice and Auric were Perdita’s adoptive parents, but Gardas was the one who mostly looked after her.

‘ _Your CHILDREN? Come off it – who’d want you as a mate?_ ’

Gardas winced. No-one would, of course, and Beatrice certainly hadn’t. He remembered once hearing a minstrel who was visiting their village sing a ballad in the Knight & Dragon, about an orc who had raped a human maiden and got her pregnant, and how she had left her half-orc baby in a ditch to die, and the orc father had found the baby girl and brought her up, and how, years later, they had met the human mother again, who took out her crossbow and shot the orc dead. The song was mostly about the grief and wretchedness of both the half-orc girl, knowing that neither the orc tribe nor humans would accept her and that even her own mother hated her, and the human woman, realising that even having killed her enemy at last had not brought her peace.

Beatrice had squeezed Gardas’s hand reassuringly when she heard the song start, and whispered to him, ‘Do you want to leave?’ 

He had shaken his head – he deserved this punishment, and he wasn’t going to shy away from it – but later on, when they were alone, he had asked Beatrice, ‘Why didn’t you kill me?’

Beatrice had said, ‘Because things didn’t work out well for the mother in the song, did they? Songs and stories aren’t always examples to follow – sometimes they’re a warning of what not to do. I think this one is a warning to both men and women not to act violently on the impulse of a moment. And besides, I was luckier than the mother in the song, wasn’t I? Because you weren’t a stranger; I already knew you, and knew that you weren’t normally like that, so I realised there must have been a spell on you.’

Well, if Beatrice was too soft-hearted to kill him, maybe this blue dragon could do it for her. But no – he mustn’t let that happen while Paul and Perdita needed him.

‘ _That’s none of your business!_ ’ he snarled back. ‘ _Let me through!_ ’

‘ _Your kind aren’t allowed into Wyrms. Only Bronze males and Gold females. Sovereign’s orders._ ’

‘ _You’re not a Bronze_ ,’ Gardas pointed out.

‘ _I’m not an incomer. I already live there. Anyway, Blues are useful: we patrol the sea to keep the riff-raff out._ ’ The Blue dragon swung his long tail round so that the leaf-shaped fin on the end gave Shadow a slap on one wing so hard that it made him stagger in the air. ‘ _Want to reconsider?_ ’ sneered the Blue, as Shadow struggled to keep airborne.

Furiously, Shadow blew a jet of fire that would have killed most creatures instantly, but the Blue seemed not even to feel it, and responded with a breath of cold, accurately aimed down Shadow’s mouth and into his throat, that left him feeling sick with pain and unable to breathe any more fire. The tail came back again, the fin of its tip accurately stinging Shadow’s wounded foreleg – not just hurting because the wound was still sore anyway, but actually injecting it with venom. Shadow managed to grab the tail-tip in his jaws and bite down on it hard, which meant that it stung him in the mouth as well, but did at least have some effect on the Blue. He swung his long body round and blew icy blasts at Shadow which chilled straight through the Black dragon’s armour and made him shiver. 

Shadow clenched his teeth tighter so as not to let them chatter, which would have meant letting go of the Blue dragon’s tail. Between the stinging pain in his mouth and foreleg, the ache in his wing, and the cold, he could barely fight, let alone concentrate on fighting and flying at the same time. It occurred to him that he didn’t even have to fly, and suddenly let his wings grow limp, becoming a dead weight hanging off the Blue dragon’s tail. The change in tactics startled the Blue dragon for a second, but then he dropped, too, diving underwater and holding Shadow there.

‘ _Shadow, you idiot!_ ’ Gardas thought. Why hadn’t he remembered that Blue dragons could breathe underwater? Gardas couldn’t, and, in a heavy, armoured dragon-body, neither could he swim. Why had he let Shadow take over for the fight? Now he was going to die, and Paul and Perdita would be wondering why he hadn’t come for them, and apparently Wyrms didn’t even tolerate Grey dragons like Perdita…

He awoke to find paws pounding hard on his chest. He sneezed, vomited up a long stream of water, and managed to blow a faint hiss of steam. He was lying on his back, and the Green dragon was standing with her paws on him. Her fur was wet and matted.

‘ _Now, what was all that in aid of?_ ’ demanded Hero.

In aid of? ‘ _My children!_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _They’re over there on Wyrms, and they need me!_ ’

‘ _Your children?_ ’ Prue . ‘ _How old are you?_ ’

‘ _Thirty-three._ ’

‘ _Thirty-three?!_ ’ exclaimed Hero.‘ _Well, you’re big for thirty-three, and you must be a pretty good fighter if you even slowed Obashu down for a few minutes, but – are you actually responsible for real children? Or are these make-believe children?_ ’

‘ _Paul is my real son. Perdita is my adopted daughter. She’s a Grey dragon._ ’

‘ _A Grey? And she’s on Wyrms?_ ’ Hero sounded worried. ‘ _Are you serious?_ ’

‘ _Obashu said only Golds and Bronzes are allowed to immigrate to Wyrms, but – surely Greys are allowed, too? They’ve got silver scales – silver’s more valuable than bronze, isn’t it? And they’re bigger, too. So they must be allowed in._ ’

‘ _No, they definitely are not,_ ’ said Hero grimly. ‘ _The Sovereign can just about tolerate males who aren’t Bronze as long as they’re useful, like Obashu. But she kills any female who isn’t Gold. So if your son is a Black dragon, like you, she’ll probably give him a choice of killing his sister and becoming the Sovereign’s slave for life, or being killed straightaway._ ’

‘ _Paul’s nothing like me!_ ’ said Gardas indignantly. ‘ _He’d choose death any time, rather than hurt Perdita. We’ve got to get to them. I’ll – I’ll offer to be her slave and kill them myself, and then – I’ll knock them out, and if you’re somewhere close by, you can grab them and fly them home before the Sovereign realises what’s going on. Would you do that? Please?_ ’

‘ _Yes! We can do that, can’t we?_ ’ said Hope. ‘ _He helped us – we owe him!_ ’

‘ _How stupid do you think the Sovereign is?_ ’ retorted Prue. ‘ _She can read minds – control minds, even. If you try to fool her like that, she’ll see that your mind isn’t really dark…_ ’

‘ _Oh, it is,_ ’ said Gardas, remembering some of the dreams he still had about the sheer excitement of burning and killing. ‘ _It really, really is._ ’

‘ _In which case, she’ll make you her slave for real, so that you no longer want to save your children,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _It’s a dangerous enough job even for a grown-up; I can’t let a thirty-three-year-old go up against a three-hundred-year-old, immensely powerful Gold dragon like the Sovereign._ ’

‘ _You need an ally,_ ’ said a voice behind them. ‘ _Someone the Sovereign already trusts._ ’

‘ _Why would WE trust you?_ ’ retorted Prue.

Obashu considered this. ‘ _How long have I been working for the Sovereign?_ ’

‘ _About a hundred years,_ ’ said Hero.

‘ _And in that time, have I ever killed any of the dragons living along here? Not just threatened, but actually killed?_ ’

‘ _You bit off part of young Luna’s wing,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _She was an incredible flier for her age, and now she can barely get off the ground. What kind of life is that for a child of seventy-two, knowing that she’s so badly injured that even her mother’s healing fire can’t make her normal?_ ’

‘ _At least she CAN get off the ground,_ ’ retorted Obashu. ‘ _That’s better than the Sovereign treats even her favourites who rebel against her, let alone a Grey. Luna kept on and on trying to get to the island, and she’s like this little Black dragon here – wouldn’t stop just because I warned her that the Sovereign would kill her, or because I slapped her or gave her a bit of a dunking in the sea. I had to teach her a lesson she couldn’t forget._ ’

‘ _That’s…_ ’ Gardas began.

‘ _What? You think I’m the bad guy? You can’t understand how I could be so horrible?_ ’ snapped Obashu.

‘ _No – I DO understand,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _I used to work for someone like your Sovereign, and I once gave someone damage that can never be undone – someone innocent, someone I should have been protecting – and it’s been hard for him to forgive me. If I hadn’t been punished by having the same thing done to me, maybe he never would have. And I killed people, too – human people – lots of them._ ’

‘ _Humans, sure – but I’m talking about dragons!’_ Obashu reminded them irritably. ‘ _Whether you want to believe me or not, I’ve never killed a dragon in my life, and I don’t intend to start. If it comes to that, who do you think brought Luna here for Corona to adopt in the first place? Who brought Diana, Cynthia and Selena?_ ’

‘ _How do we know? Corona just found them on the shore, when they were new hatchlings,_ ’ Prue pointed out. ‘ _They won’t remember now who brought them._ ’

‘ _Really? Most very young dragonets have good memories of what happened when they were younger,_ ’ argued Obashu. ‘ _How far back can you remember?_ ’ he asked Gardas.

‘ _Back to when I was about three, I suppose,_ ’ said Gardas. There were a few glimpses of memory from when he was a baby, but the coherent memories started from when he was a few months short of three.

‘ _You see? Even if the older ones don’t remember, Cynthia’s thirty-six and Selene is twenty-four – they’ll still be young enough to remember. Ask Corona sometime if they’ve ever talked about a Blue dragon who carried them in his mouth. But right now – you can assume I’m an enemy and throw away your lives coming after me, or you can wait a couple of hours until I come back with two dragonets – UNHARMED, unless they do something very stupid – one Black, one Grey. Then ask them about whether I’m a bad guy or not!_ ’ And with that, the Blue dragon flew off.

‘ _Did you believe that “I’m a secret agent on the side of Good” spiel?_ ’ asked Prue.

‘ _It – might be true,_ ’ said Hero thoughtfully. ‘ _Obashu threatens a lot, sometimes bites or stings or chills – nothing that a Grey dragon couldn’t heal in a few minutes, or that Hope couldn’t when she’s fully grown – but Luna’s the only dragon I’ve known who was permanently injured, and Corona HAD been warning her for decades to stop trying to get back to the island. Ever since Cynthia turned up when Luna was thirty-six, Luna had been insisting that the island was their real home, and that they had a Daddy over there who was missing them. Corona doesn’t have a mate – the Bronze she’d been hoping to marry was killed by the Sovereign – and of course it upset her to think that Luna wasn’t happy having just an adoptive mother and grandmother and aunts, and maybe she hadn’t been giving Luna and Di enough attention once they were old enough to fly and she had Cynthia and then Selene to worry about. So if Obashu really was trying to protect them, I can imagine him thinking that pinioning Luna wouldn’t just stop her being able to wander, but might frighten Corona into keeping a closer watch on all her children. I just hope he doesn’t try to teach you a lesson the same way,_ ’ Hero added to Gardas. ‘ _But he probably won’t kill your hatchlings, at any rate._ ’

‘ _It’s – not quite that simple,_ ’ said Gardas.


	13. Chapter 13

Paul wasn’t sure where he had expected HOMEWARD to take them. Would it take him and Perdita back to their cottage, Maz back to Drakespring, and Martin to whatever the remains of his home in the Downs now looked like? Or would it bring them all to his home, because he was the one who had cast the spell? Or back to the forest glade that he, Perdita and Maz had been summoned from? Or would it do nothing at all? The divination tiles had worked for the others, but then, Maz and Martin were trainee wizards, and Perdita, even if she couldn’t read properly yet, had were-dragon magic in her, while Paul had lost his.

But it seemed that the divination set had magic of its own, because it brought the four of them somewhere – just not somewhere he had ever seen in his life. They were in a cave – and a good-sized cave, too, larger than Granny Flint’s cave where he and Auric had lived when they first came to Cideria (and Granny Flint was tall even by troll standards), and much bigger than most of the niches in the rocks near his home where he and Perdita sometimes played. Gardas in dragon-form could comfortably have flown around in this one for exercise. There was a pool of water at one end, and he could see from the mess of seaweed and shells strewn around the cave that the water rose far higher than it was now. This was obviously a tunnel that connected with the sea – but who knew which sea, or in what world?

It was fairly dark, but not pitch-black, because a ray of daylight fell from a crack in the roof, far above their heads. Not only that, but the upper part of the floor, a rock-ledge well above the tideline, was covered in shiny things, and the light bounced off them to illuminate the rest. Paul could see the sparkle of cut gemstones, and the gleam of gold coins. Someone seemed to have been arranging them into patterns.

‘Pretty stones!’ exclaimed Perdita, and stepped forward to examine them. 

Paul grabbed her tunic. ‘Don’t touch them!’ he hissed. ‘They’re not yours!’

‘I won’t take them,’ protested Perdita. ‘I just want to play with them.’

‘But whoever owns them will THINK you’re stealing them,’ Paul pointed out. Well, for a given value of ‘owns’, anyway. Whoever hid wealth in a place like this might be a human criminal, or might be a dragon who had – acquired them, by whatever means. His textbook had said that unmated male dragons, especially Black, Blue, and Brown males, had the greatest tendency to hoard, either in the hope of attracting a mate, or as consolation if they couldn’t find one. Apparently, what dragons chose to hoard varied from one individual to another, but Blues had the greatest tendency to hoard what humans would consider valuable treasure such as gold and precious stones, while Browns were more quirky and individualistic. Black dragons, the book said, typically treasured keepsakes, usually the swords of knights they had defeated, and the heads of princesses they had eaten.

Gardas was the only Black dragon Paul knew – in fact, the only male dragon he had known at all, until he met Martin – and he didn’t seem have much chance of accumulating a hoard, apart from some of Perdita’s junk. Perdita was forever finding ‘treasures’ – pretty pebbles in the stream-bed, leaves and conkers and feathers – and she loved making models out of clay or salt dough. Gardas encouraged her to keep the nicest ones in her own room, but he gratefully accepted any that she chose to give him. He even still had the basket that Perdita had been laid in, and the blanket that had covered her, when she had first been brought to Gardas’s door.

Paul wondered whether Gardas had accumulated any of the trophies of the kind the book mentioned, while he was Azalar’s attack-dog. He didn’t want to ask, but he suspected that Azalar wouldn’t have allowed Gardas to keep anything for himself. And now – well, Gardas and Auric and Beatrice could have been earning money for the potions they had created to restore dragon-blighted areas, but Beatrice wouldn’t take any money because that wasn’t what witches did. Wizards didn’t mind earning money, but Auric and Gardas couldn’t be paid because Gardas was atoning for his crimes during Azalar’s reign of terror and Auric was atoning for illegally removing Gardas’s magic. But, as a family, they had whatever they could grow or make, and besides, people gave witches presents of food and clothing, so they had never wanted for anything essential. They just didn’t have anything to hoard, unless you counted books and magical supplies; everything they didn’t need any more, like clothes that Paul or Perdita had outgrown, they passed on to whoever needed it.

Gardas always insisted that they weren’t poor – he’d lived in real poverty as a child, and this wasn’t it. But they weren’t rich, either. If you had money, you had so many more options over where you could go and what you could do. Perhaps if the owner of this hoard was a really bad criminal/dragon, then Paul would be doing a public service by killing him, and could be paid some of this treasure as a reward. And after all, he did have three were-dragons with him to help...

‘ _Are you insane?_ ’ came a voice from somewhere above him, speaking Dragonese. ‘ _You could have used magic to go anywhere you liked, and you came HERE?_ ’

It wasn’t actually a dragon’s voice, Paul realised, but a human – a girl – speaking Dragonese. Looking up, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a girl about his age, who was climbing up the rock wall. She was wearing – no, he corrected himself, she was naked, but had a dress knotted around her neck by the sleeves, so that it hung behind her like a cloak.

‘ _It’s a bit hard to explain,_ ’ he said. ‘ _Do you want us to tell you now, or wait until you come down?_ ’

‘ _I’ll come down,_ ’ said the girl, and she carefully made her way down the cave wall, before retreating into the darkest corner to pull the dress over her head. When she emerged into the light, Paul could see that it looked as though it had once been made from fine velvet, but long ago and for someone who was considerably bigger than this girl, and then had been immersed in the sea for a long time. He tried not to look at some of the holes, and the girl tried to pull the fabric so that the holes didn’t reveal anything too embarrassing. She was about his age, he thought, or maybe slightly younger.

‘We were in another world,’ he began, in Westron. His Dragonese wasn’t bad, after living with Gardas and Perdita for the past three years, but he wasn’t sure he felt up to explaining this.

The girl frowned. ‘No – talk – lots – people words,’ she said. ‘Talk Dragonese? Please?’

‘ _Why can’t you talk in human language?_ ’ Perdita asked in Dragonese – which she, too, spoke more fluently and confidently like Westron. ‘ _Are you a were-dragon?_ ’

‘ _NO!_ ’ said the girl, indignantly. ‘ _I’m human, can’t you see that? I’ve been a dragon’s prisoner since I was barely any older than you – is it any wonder I can barely remember how to speak like a human? Now, if you’ve got any sense, you’ll leave before he comes back and kills you all!_ ’

‘ _Why would he?_ ’ asked Paul. ‘ _He hasn’t killed you, has he?_ ’

‘ _I’m his PET!_ ’ snapped the girl. ‘ _He killed my parents and all the others on the boat, but he decided to keep me as a pet – held me in his mouth while he swam up into here. He makes me tell him stories – like that king in the legend, except that I’ve been here a lot more than a thousand and one nights. I suppose when I can’t think of any more stories, he’ll eat me – or he might be fattening me up to do that anyway._ ’

‘ _So you’re practising climbing so you can escape?_ ’ asked Maz.

‘ _Yes. It probably won’t work – if I get good enough at climbing that I can out of the crack up there, he’ll be able to swoop down and pick me off, and if I get good enough at swimming that I can dive through the tunnel at low tide, he’ll find me in the sea. I don’t even know what’s up there. But I’d rather die trying to escape than sit around like a rabbit in its hutch, waiting to turn from a pet into a pie. It’s not as if I’ve got magic to teleport away, after all!_ ’

‘ _Would you like us to take you with us?_ ’ asked Paul. He got the impression that this was what the girl had been hinting at all along – but why didn’t she just say so?

‘ _I’m not convinced you can do that,_ ’ said the girl. ‘ _I mean, you’re terribly clever at magic, and you’ve been able to magic yourselves here – but you wouldn’t actually be able to magic someone else away, surely?_ ’

She didn’t mean it, Paul was sure of that. She was just so used to stories where the hero has to trick the villain into turning himself into a mouse or similar – and, maybe, used to having to trick her dragon captor into bringing her things like food and clothing – that she had forgotten how to ask for things directly.

‘ _I’ve lost my magic,_ ’ he said. ‘ _But Maz knows how to teleport people._ ’

‘ _Not without a wand,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _And I’d need to know where we are in relation to where I’m sending you. If I flew out through the crack up there, I could have a look around, though._ ’

‘ _FLEW? You don’t have a broom, either,_ ’ the girl pointed out.

‘ _No, I mean fly as a dragon,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _I turn into a Gules dragon, so I’d easily be small enough to get through. I don’t think Martin or Perdita could – he’s a Brown were-dragon and she’s a Grey, so they’re both quite big in dragon-form – but they could fly up with you and Paul on their backs so that you two could climb through, and then – maybe if Martin and Perdita could cling to the rock and change back into human form, we could help them through?_ ’

The girl had already been pale with lack of sunlight, but now she looked paler than ever with horror – and anger. ‘ _You’re all DRAGONS?!_ ’ she demanded furiously.

‘ _Were-dragons. All except Paul – he’s human,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _We’re not going to hurt you. We’re humans, most of the time – just humans who can turn into dragons when we want to._ ’

‘ _I’ve heard about your kind,_ ’ said the girl grimly. ‘ _My parents told me were-dragons were even worse than normal dragons, and only very evil wizards studied to turn themselves into dragons. That’s what Azalar does, over in the Downs, isn’t it? Turns himself into a Black dragon so he can go and set fire to anyone who defies him?_ ’

‘ _No he DIDN’T!_ ’ said Paul indignantly. ‘ _The Black dragon – were-dragon – was Azalar’s prisoner, just as you’re a prisoner of this dragon here. Azalar was a human. And anyway, the Black dragon killed Azalar to protect me, in the end._ ’

‘ _I don’t believe you!_ ’ shouted the girl, too frantic with terror to be reasonable. ‘ _Dragons don’t do that sort of thing! Get away from me!_ ’

‘ _Princess, are you all right?_ ’ called a worried voice outside – this time definitely that of a real dragon. ‘ _Don’t worry, Daddy’s coming! And you lot_ ’ it added in harsher tones, ‘ _are dead if you’ve been upsetting my Princess, understand?_ ’


	14. Chapter 14

The girl called Princess sat meekly on a stone in the cave, trying to look as demure as possible. Paul, Maz and Martin stood, not knowing what to do. Perdita took advantage of their uncertainty to start playing with the treasure-hoard again, stacking smaller coins on top of larger ones, and seeing which gemstones were small enough to pass through gold rings. Princess gave a faint, nervous smile and nodded encouragingly at her, before turning her eyes back to the pool of water.

At first, the water surface just wobbled as whatever was underneath disturbed it, but then it burst into splashes and spray that drenched everyone in the cave, as a furious, spiky head emerged. The creature poured out more and more of its length as it clambered out of the water, but Paul could see from its head alone that it was much bigger than Gardas. Its back-spines weren’t placed a comfortable distance apart for sitting between, like Gardas’s, but formed a continuous crest that looked somewhere between a horse’s mane (except that it continued along the creature’s back) and a fish’s dorsal fin. Not enough of it was in direct sunlight for its colours to show, but its long, serpentine body looked like the woodcut of the Blue dragon in Paul’s textbook.

Before the Blue dragon was halfway out of the water, Martin took dragon form and launched himself at it. Martin, now that he had come back to the real world, had returned to his true form as a teenage boy rather than a grown man (which meant that the tight blue trousers he had been wearing back in the fantasy world were now rather too big for him). Presumably in dragon form he wasn’t a fully grown Brown dragon, as his horns were still quite small, and only beginning to show the first signs of curving. The Blue dragon’s horns formed an elegant crescent-shape, like Gardas’s, and Paul had seen pictures of older males with horns as curly as a ram’s. Nevertheless, Martin as an immature Brown male was at least as big as this Blue. The clothes he had burst out of lay in rags on the rocks, as Gardas’s so often did when he changed unexpectedly.

Princess had given up any hope of being demure enough to appease the Blue, and now cowered while kneeling on the ground, covering her head and screaming. Earlier, she had sounded reasonably like a human – admittedly a human who spoke fluent Dragonese – but now, when she was truly terrified, her screams sounded more like a young dragon roaring in pain or fear than any sound Paul had expected to hear from a human throat. Her cries were like a higher-pitched version of the roars of rage issuing from the Blue dragon as Martin pinned him down and Maz – who had probably changed at the same time as Martin, but had needed to climb out of her suddenly too large dress – flew round and round his head, taunting him. The Blue dragon tried to wriggle more of his length into the cave, so that he could slap at them with his tail, but Martin was too strong for him.

‘ _Where did you come from?_ ’ the Blue snarled. ‘ _Who sent you?_ ’

‘ _Nobody!_ ’ protested Paul. ‘ _We came here by accident, trying to get home!_ ’

‘ _Was it the Sovereign?_ ’ persisted the Blue. ‘ _What did she tell you? WHAT DID YOU DO TO PRINCESS?_ ’

‘ _Nothing!_ ’ said Paul.

‘ _LIAR!_ ’ roared the Blue dragon, and finally managed to get his tail free, swinging it round in a stinging blow that slammed Paul onto the stone floor. Perdita, indignant at seeing anyone hurting her brother, took dragon form and flew rather clumsily towards the Blue. 

‘ _Perdita, no!_ ’ called Paul. Perdita in dragon form was nearly as big as Gardas, but her tiny nubs of horns made it obvious that she was nowhere near adulthood, and she had no experience of fighting.

The Blue dragon stopped struggling, and looked at the young Grey. ‘ _Perdita?_ ’ he repeated in surprise – and shock, and even, Paul thought, contrition.

‘ _Hello,_ ’ said Perdita. ‘ _What’s your name?_ ’

‘ _I’m Obashu,_ ’ said the Blue. ‘ _I – I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a were-dragon. Do you have a brother who’s a black dragon, or were-dragon?_ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ said Perdita, and then, ‘ _Yes. Sort of._ ’

‘ _Sort of?_ ’ repeated Obashu.

‘ _Gardas is a grown-up, so he’s like a Daddy, really,_ ’ said Perdita. ‘ _He looks after me. But he’s my ’dopted brother. Beatrice and Auric are my ‘ficial Mummy and Daddy, and they’re Gardas’s ‘ficial Mummy and Daddy, too, and Paul’s. Well, Beatrice is Paul’s real Mummy, and Gardas is Paul’s real Daddy._ ’

‘ _So – what’s Paul, then?_ ’ asked Obashu.

‘ _My brother, silly!_ ’

‘ _Yes, but – what colour is he?_ ’

Perdita considered. ‘ _Mostly pink,_ ’ she said.

‘ _PINK?_ ’ roared Obashu disbelievingly. ‘ _How can he be pink?_ ’

‘ _Look, his skin’s pink,_ ’ explained Perdita, pointing at Paul. ‘ _He has got black hair,_ ’ she added consolingly.

Obashu thumped Paul in the side with his hard, spiky snout, in what was probably intended to be a gentle nudge. ‘ _Are you Paul?_ ’ he asked.

‘ _Yes,_ ’ said Paul weakly. He felt bruised and sore all over, and there was a pattern of agonising stings all over his body where Obashu’s tail-fin had caught him.

‘ _Then I’m sorry I hurt you,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _Your own fault for being stupid enough to come in here, mind you, but I did promise the Black dragon I was talking to earlier that I’d get you two off Wyrms before the Sovereign finds you. So, if your little sister will take human form, I can take her in my mouth while I swim down the tunnel, and carry her back to Cideria, and then do the same for you._ ’

‘ _How do we know we can trust you?_ ’ demanded Paul.

‘ _What do you want? I was sent by a Black dragon with a missing scale on one foreleg, claims to be thirty-three but he’s big for a Black dragon that age, bigger than your sister here, and he’s worried about his children: his son Paul, and adopted daughter Perdita._ ’

‘ _That just proves you’ve met him,_ ’ Paul pointed out. ‘ _It doesn’t mean you’re on our side. What’s to stop you eating us, the way you did that girl’s parents?_ ’ He indicated Princess, who had stopped screaming and was now hunched in silent misery. ‘ _If you wanted to let us live, you’d keep us as prisoners, like her._ ’

‘ _What?_ ’ said Obashu, taken aback.

Paul wondered whether Princess had just been fantasising. If so, he didn’t want to get her into trouble by explaining what she had said. ‘ _Sorry, I just assumed that, because I saw her here, all alone,_ ’ he said hastily. ‘ _How did she really come here?_ ’

‘ _There was a fishing boat coming too near Wyrms_ ,’ said Obashu. ‘ _Humans aren’t allowed here – Sovereign’s orders. I sank the boat, but – well, they’d got a little girl who was no more than a hatchling, so I saved her and brought her here. I’ve taken good care of her – brought her fish and seaweed to eat every day, clothes I’d found in wrecks – even let her play with all my treasure. She’s safe here – I made sure the Sovereign didn’t find her. She’s better off than she would be in the human world, with all their wars. Humans aren’t good to orphaned children._ ’

Paul thought about this. He thought about Bara and Sammaron, and how they had loved him as their own son, and how Auric had looked after him after Gardas killed them, and how Beatrice had made room in her home for Gardas and Perdita. But he remembered, too, the way Gardas shuddered whenever he recalled his childhood – either his early childhood as an orphan on the potions farm, or his adolescence as a slave.

‘ _Some humans aren’t kind,_ ’ he admitted. ‘ _But some are. But isn’t it up to her to choose?_ ’

‘ _She chooses to live here, of course!_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _Wouldn’t any princess want to live in a cave with a dragon?_ ’

‘ _Have you ever actually asked her what she wants?_ ’ asked Maz.

Obashu considered this for a moment. ‘ _Princess!_ ’ he called. ‘ _What do you want?_ ’

Princess had managed to calm down a little, and now just looked tired and despairing again, instead of frenzied. ‘ _I don’t know,_ ’ she said quietly.

‘ _She wants to run away,_ ’ said Perdita. ‘ _She was…_ ’

‘ _Shush, Perdita,_ ’ said Paul firmly. He and the other teenagers could see that it wasn’t a good idea to tell Obashu outright that Princess knew exactly what she wanted, even if she wasn’t sure how she would survive.

‘ _She can’t know, if she hasn’t been outside this cave since she was little,_ ’ pointed out Maz reasonably. ‘ _What if you let her live a year in the human world, and decide which she prefers? Humans have a saying: If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s truly yours. If it doesn’t, it never was._ ’

‘ _I’m not letting her near HUMANS!_ ’ said Obashu, horrified. ‘ _Druids kill young maidens – sacrifice them in stone circles at Yule, if there isn’t a dragon to stop them._ ’

‘ _Perdita and Martin and I are were-dragons, and so is Gardas,_ ’ pointed out Maz. ‘ _If you let us go with her, we can keep her safe._ ’ She didn’t point out that, even in the Downs, human sacrifice at Yule had gone out of fashion nearly a century ago. After all, from Obashu’s point of view, that was still within very recent memory.

Obashu pondered this in silence for a long time. His head hung from his long neck, and even his ears drooped, but his tail thrashed furiously in the water. ‘ _Is that what you want, Princess?_ ’ he asked at last. ‘ _To live a year among humans, with these were-dragons to protect you, and then decide whether you’d rather stay with the humans or return to me?_ ’

‘ _Yes, please,_ ’ said Princess softly. ‘ _And – and if I do come back, I’ll have more stories to tell you, won’t I? Lots of stories!_ ’ She sounded more like a little girl Perdita’s age than the angry young woman who had talked to Maz and Paul earlier – but after all, having seen what Obashu did to adult humans, she knew that it wasn’t a good idea to seem too grown-up when he was around.

‘ _Then I’ll take you to Cideria – all of you,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _The Gules dragon can fly out through that crack in the ceiling, but I’ll have to carry the rest of you in my mouth – so you were-dragons, Perdita and the Brown, will have to go back to human form. Will you trust me?_ ’

They all looked at each other dubiously.

‘ _Make your minds up!_ ’ snapped Obashu. ‘ _I’m committing treason here, letting humans and were-dragons escape alive! I need to do it before the Sovereign finds out!_ ’

‘ _I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that, Obashu dear,_ ’ came a voice from above them.


	15. Chapter 15

‘ _S-Sovereign?_ ’ stammered Obashu, his head drooping.

‘ _Obashu, I’m surprised at you,_ ’ said the honeyed voice issuing from the crack in the cave ceiling. ‘ _Who gave you a home on Wyrms, a hundred years ago?_ ’

‘ _Y-you did, Sovereign._ ’

‘ _And why did you need a home?_ ’

‘ _Because the Downslanders were looking for me._ ’

‘ _And why were they looking for you?_ ’

‘ _Because I killed their druids._ ’

‘ _And why did you kill their druids?_ ’

‘ _To rescue the girl._ ’

‘ _And why were you rescuing a human girl then?_ ’

‘ _Because I didn’t have your wise guidance, Sovereign._ ’

‘ _And what have you learnt since then?_ ’

‘ _Humans are evil. They’ll kill every last dragon, if they get the chance, except those they can control. Were-dragons are humans who pretend to be dragons, so they can get in among us and kill us when we least expect it. The survival of dragonkind depends on breeding enough strong Gold and Bronze dragons to conquer the world and rid it of humans._ ’ Paul wasn’t fluent enough in Dragonese to pick up every subtlety of intonation, but it seemed to him that Obashu was speaking in a dull, emotionless monotone, as if he was repeating something that had been beaten into him until he could recite it flawlessly. Gardas, when speaking Dragonese, sometimes sounded like that, when he was very tired or very depressed, but usually his voice was more expressive when speaking Dragonese (whether he was in human form or dragon form) than when speaking Westron.

‘ _Then why is your cave full of humans and were-dragons?_ ’ The Sovereign’s voice, as far as Paul could make out, sounded light and amused, but not affectionate. It was like a horrible parody of the playful way Gardas held Dragonese conversations with Perdita.

‘ _I – I was taking them back to the human lands, my Sovereign,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _I – I’d have taught them a sharp lesson before I let them go, of course. They wouldn’t have been keen to come back._ ’

‘ _Really?_ ’ said the Sovereign. ‘ _Perhaps I’ve misjudged you, Obashu. You’re not the brightest flame in the fire, but you’ve always had the makings of a good dragon, when you’re not being led astray by the corrupt. But you should have asked for my help, instead of acting alone._ ’

‘ _I’m sorry, Sovereign_ ,’ said Obashu wretchedly.

‘ _You were doing your best, but you didn’t think it through. What was your idea of “teaching them a lesson”? A crude beating? Dunking them in the waves? Biting off a limb and letting them go?_ ’

‘ _Something like that,_ ’ Obashu admitted.

‘ _Yes, I thought your imagination probably didn’t extend much beyond that,_ ’ said the Sovereign sadly. ‘ _Why don’t you bring them to me – let them meet my husband and my sons? They’d learn so much better in a family environment, don’t you think?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Sovereign,_ ’ said Obashu.

Paul wondered why he had been standing listening to all this, instead of taking advantage of Obashu’s distraction to try to swim away. He was a good swimmer, and even if he wasn’t sure how far it was to Cideria, it had to be better than letting a pair of insane dragons decide his fate. Princess looked strong and fit, too – after all, throughout her childhood she’d had little to do except practise swimming and climbing. He wasn’t sure whether Maz, Martin and Perdita could swim in dragon form – they didn’t look as aquatic as Obashu – but if they took human form to pass through the tunnel, they could change back to dragon form and fly as soon as they were in open water. In human form, Maz was a better swimmer than Paul, and Martin might be okay, but Perdita was only three and Gardas had never allowed her to do anything more dangerous than splash about in shallow streams. Still, it looked as though she was going to have to chance it.

‘Come on, let’s go!’ he said in Westron, quietly enough that he hoped Obashu and the Sovereign wouldn’t notice. ‘Perdita, you need to change back into a human and we’re going to swim down there, okay? Perdita, can you hear me?’

But Perdita was standing with her snout raised adoringly to the crack in the ceiling. ‘ _She’s pretty,_ ’ she said. ‘ _She’s my Mummy._ ’

‘ _No, she’s not! And she wouldn’t be nice to you even if she was! What about Gardas? What about Beatrice and Auric and me? We’re your real family – the people who love you. Come on, we’ve got to go._ ’

‘ _No! I want to stay with Mummy!_ ’ cried Perdita desperately.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Princess dived into the water, but Martin spun round and grabbed her in his jaws. As Paul launched himself at the Brown dragon, Perdita grabbed Paul in her own jaws.

‘ _Well done,_ ’ said the Sovereign. ‘ _Perhaps you were-dragons have a place in my kingdom after all. Come with me, and I’ll show you._ ’

‘ _Very well, my Sovereign,_ ’ said Obashu, ‘ _but may I point out that these aren’t sea-dragons? They would be unlikely to be able swim through the tunnel in dragon form, so it might be more practical if they returned to human form and I carried them in my mouth._ ’

‘ _Oh, I don’t think you need to do that,_ ’ said the Sovereign. The cave shook, as the Sovereign had obviously dealt it a massive blow, and the next moment, lumps of earth and rock were raining down on everyone in the cave. Paul and Princess yelped in pain as lumps of rock bruised whatever appendages were sticking out from the were-dragons’ mouths, but all the dragons – the were-dragons as well as Obashu – stood stoically, as if they accepted this as their due. Admittedly, their armoured scales probably offered them some protection, but even Perdita didn’t wince as a rock jarred against her horns. Their only reaction was to blink a little at the suddenly dazzling sunlight – which seemed even brighter as it reflected off the gleaming scales of the huge Golden dragon who perched above them on the remains of what had been the cave.

‘ _And now,_ ’ said the Sovereign, ‘ _let’s fly!_ ’


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: really nasty physical and psychological abuse in this chapter. I’m alarmed at how easy I find it to write really evil villains.

Gardas couldn’t sense emotions very clearly through the scale, but he could pick up enough to know that it was close to Paul (probably in his pocket), and that it seemed to be picking up vibrations of fear. More importantly, he could sense where it was – and it was moving. Obashu must have decided to kill Paul after all, on discovering that he was a human. Still, between them, Gardas and the Green three-headed dragon should be in with a chance – if only they could get there in time. Gardas was weak and tired, and the Green dragon flew lopsidedly because her left wing, controlled by Hope, wasn’t very well co-ordinated, but they flew with every scrap of energy they possessed. 

Hero had tried to persuade Gardas at least to catch something to eat before they set off. It had been a long time since he had been in a dragon body continuously for more than an hour or two, and he had forgotten how hungry he got. Yesterday’s deer was just a distant memory, and perhaps Hero had been right and he should have stopped to grab at least a rabbit or two as a quick snack. But when the scale had started radiating so much fear that Gardas could feel it even without Paul directly touching it, he had flown off at once, and the Green dragon had followed him, calling, ‘ _You idiot! You know you can’t handle Obashu alone! Wait for me!_ ’

Wyrms seemed to be a wild, rocky land, mostly made up of peaks sticking out of the mists that swaddled the lower levels. The scale led Gardas to where he could see a V-shaped skein of dragons already flying in to land. The sunlight above the cloudline reflected so dazzlingly off their Gold leader that he couldn’t make out much else at first. He couldn’t see Perdita flying – but of course, it was afternoon, and the moon (which had been visible throughout the morning) had now set. Coming closer, he could see that the Gold leader was flying with Perdita held in her forelegs, as easily as Gardas had once lifted a dazed Paul after he’d fallen into a treetop. Perdita in dragon form was big, but this adult Gold was gigantic.

As he flew nearer still, Gardas could see Paul’s arms and legs dangling from Perdita’s mouth. He wanted to believe there was a reasonable explanation – perhaps Paul was injured, unable to sit up on a dragon’s back, and Perdita was carrying him the only way she could? Perdita was probably too young to have healing powers – but surely she or Paul could have used the scale to summon Gardas to them? Carrying an injured person like that was more likely to make their injuries worse. 

No, it looked as if the obvious explanation was the true one: sweet, cuddly Perdita, who was so gentle that even a reference in a story to someone pricking their finger made her cry, had gone insane and was carrying her brother off to eat him, like a blackbird carrying a worm in its beak. She’d have to be very, very insane, further off from her normal self than Gardas had ever been, because Grey dragons didn’t even eat meat. Anyway, there was no point fighting her and the Gold dragon in the sky, where if they dropped Paul, he would probably fall to the ground and be smashed to pieces before Gardas could dive down and catch him. He’d have to follow the other dragons and wait until they landed.

He and the Green dragon joined the two ends of the skein, the Green on the right, behind a big Brown dragon, and Gardas on the left, following a little Gules dragon who was presumably Maz in dragon-form. Obashu was in front of Maz, and Obashu, too, held a struggling human prisoner in his mouth.

‘ _Maz?_ ’ Gardas tried asking quietly enough not to be overheard. ‘ _What’s going on?_ ’

The Gules dragon paid no attention, but the Gold leader turned her head. ‘ _Well, well!_ ’ she exclaimed. ‘ _We’ve got nearly every dragon on the spectrum now: Gules, Black, Blue, Green, Brown, Grey, and – oh, what’s the other one, I keep forgetting? Gosh, silly me – Gold, isn’t it? When we go to join the Bronzes, we’ll have the complete set!_ ’

Her voice sounded like the most beautiful music Gardas had ever heard, in spite of what the words were saying. She didn’t seem to expect a reply to her taunting, which was just as well, as Gardas was too dazed with the beauty of her voice to think of anything to say. Asking her what she was doing, and why she was letting Perdita hurt Paul, was out of the question, especially as it was his own fault anyway. Why had he been stupid enough to let Obashu get at his children in the first place? Why had he let Perdita wander off – and then let Paul come with him to try and find her? Stupid great monster, always…

They landed on a high, rocky tableland with sheer cliffs dropping down from each side. A little grass grew on it, with bare rocks sticking up in between. A Bronze dragon, much bigger than the three-headed Green dragon and nearly as big and shiny as the Gold, lay basking in the sunlight, curled protectively around an egg. Two Bronze dragonets, one of them about Perdita’s size and the other a little younger, were playing, but at the sight of the Gold, they hurried to the Bronze’s side and sat meekly with him, as if to show that they were on their best behaviour and would never do anything so undignified as playing. They looked as if they would have liked to huddle under their father’s wings – except that the big Bronze didn’t have wings. There were stumps that looked well-healed, as if whatever injury had destroyed his wings had been long ago. How many years – or decades, or centuries – had he been a prisoner on this peak, with nothing to do except bring up his hatchlings and watch as they took to the skies?

‘ _Hello, my caterpillar,_ ’ said the Gold. ‘ _I’ve brought you some visitors. Aren’t you going to say hello?_ ’

‘ _Greetings,_ ’ said the Bronze dragon. ‘ _I’m the Sovereign’s mate, and these are our children, Perseus,_ ’ (he indicated the larger dragonet) ‘ _Daedalus_ ’ (the younger one), ‘ _and this young lady, who we think might be a Gold,_ ’ (he nudged the egg, which was considerably bigger than Daedalus).

‘ _I’m Pferdita,_ ’ mumbled Perdita, trying to speak without letting go of Paul. ‘ _What’f your name?_ ’

‘ _I have no name, now,_ ’ said the Bronze. ‘ _I am the Sovereign’s consort._ ’

‘ _Maybe you should tell our guests your story,_ ’ said the Sovereign. ‘ _I must ask you all to sit quietly and listen,_ ’ she added to the ‘guests’. ‘ _Now, my worm, what happened when I offered to make you my mate?_ ’

‘ _I – I was ungrateful,_ ’ said the Bronze, his head drooping. ‘ _I desired a Grey dragon, even though she wasn’t as beautiful or nobly born as you, my Sovereign._ ’

‘ _And what did I offer you to persuade you to marry me?_ ’

‘ _You promised to let the Grey dragons escape to Cideria, and not hunt them down and kill them, if I’d be faithful to you._ ’

‘ _And how did you repay my mercy?_ ’

‘ _I – I mistrusted you. I worried that you might go back on your word, and that while I was keeping your egg warm, you might fly off and hunt the Grey dragons after all. So, one day, I asked you to take a turn at egg-sitting, and I flew off to find my friend the Grey, and talk to her. I had no intention of committing adultery – I just wanted to make sure that she and her family were safe and well in their new home._ ’

‘ _And what did I do when I found out what you had done?_ ’

‘ _You were merciful. You didn’t kill the Greys._ ’ Gardas was sure that the Bronze dragon was watching his visitors to see how they responded to this claim. When none of them spluttered in disbelief, and Prudence, Hero and Hope each gave him a small nod, he went on: ‘ _You didn’t even kill me. You asked me to come back to your home, and be your faithful love._ ’

‘ _And how did I make sure you wouldn’t fly off again?_ ’

‘ _You held me down and told Obashu to tear off my wings._ ’

‘ _Obashu, what did you do with my mate’s wings?_ ’

‘ _I ate them,_ ’ said Obashu, his ears and tail twitching in the dragon equivalent of a smirk.

‘ _And since then, my slug, have you and Obashu both been loyal?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Sovereign,_ ’ said the Bronze and Obashu at once.

‘ _Really?_ ’ said the Sovereign. ‘ _You know, lately I’ve had nearly as much cause to doubt Obashu’s loyalty as I had to doubt yours, all those decades ago. I caught him harbouring were-dragons in his cave, and even being slack in his duty to exterminate humans._ ’ She waved her tail-tip to indicate Paul and whoever Obashu had in his mouth – a girl about Paul’s age, as far as Gardas could see. ‘ _What do you think, my dear?_ ’

‘ _I’m sure he meant it for the best, my Sovereign,_ ’ said the Bronze.

‘ _I think so, too. I think these creatures could learn to be obedient subjects, given proper care and training,_ ’ said the Sovereign. ‘ _That was why you brought them here, wasn’t it, Obashu?_ ’

‘ _Yes, my Sovereign. May I eat their wings, great Sovereign?_ ’

‘ _Certainly not! You’re not to eat ANYTHING until I give you the order to do so. Not even the humans – for now, at any rate. Perhaps you could do with a refresher course in obedience yourself, Obashu?_ ’

‘ _Yes, my Sovereign,_ ’ mumbled Obashu, his head and wings drooping.

At first, Gardas had been listening to this conversation because he was biding his time, trying to pick the right moment to talk some sense into Perdita, rescue Paul, and bring them home. But the longer he waited, the harder it was to move at all. The sheer beauty of the Sovereign’s voice was putting him into a trance.

 _She’s so beautiful,_ whispered Shadow, in his head.

 _She’s a bully!_ retorted Gardas. _She’s just like Azalar and Lankin!_

‘ _Who are Azalar and Lankin?_ ’ asked the Queen.

‘ _They used to look after me,_ ’ said Shadow. ‘ _But they weren’t my real Mummy and Daddy, and they weren’t as beautiful as you. Will you be my Mummy?_ ’

‘ _By all means!_ ’ said the Sovereign. ‘ _You need a Mummy to teach you to be good, don’t you? Even if I have to punish you when you’re naughty, it’s only because I love you and want you to learn to be good. Will you do as I say?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Mummy,_ ’ said Shadow.

‘ _Say, “Yes, Sovereign,”_ ’

‘ _Yes, Sovereign._ ’

‘ _You see that human boy in the Grey dragon’s mouth?_ ’

 _Paul!_ thought Gardas in terror. He could feel Paul’s own terror emanating through the sweat soaking his clothes.

 _Hide!_ thought Shadow. _I’m the dragon here._

‘ _I’m going to tell the Grey to drop him on the ground, and hold him down, and then I want you to break his arms and legs,_ ’ said the Sovereign.

 _No!_ thought Gardas. He knew this type of manipulation all too well. The Sovereign was trying to make him unleash all his violence on someone he loved, someone small and vulnerable and human, so that he would feel disgusted with himself and Paul would find it even harder than before to forgive him.

 _We’ve got to,_ thought Shadow. _Or she’ll do something even worse._

 _Let her,_ thought Gardas. _When she makes a move, we kill her._

‘ _Perdita, little one,_ ’ said the Sovereign, ‘ _show this Black dragon how it’s done, will you? Hold that human down with one paw, and hit him with the other, as hard as you can._ ’

All right, that made it harder. He could try knocking Perdita aside – even if she was nearly as big as Gardas – but she was perilously close to the edge of the cliff, and, now that the moon had set, she couldn’t fly. ‘ _Perdita, stop!_ ’ he called. Perdita ignored him, and dealt Paul four bone-crushing blows, as easily as if she was patting scone dough into place. Gardas felt sick. Shadow licked his lips at the neat efficiency with which the Grey dragon worked.

‘ _You didn’t like that, did you?_ ’ said the Sovereign. ‘ _Seeing your son hurt. But you didn’t do anything to stop it, did you?_ ’

‘ _No, Sovereign,_ ’ said Gardas. He wanted to leap up and attack the Gold dragon, but he couldn’t. For one thing, Shadow was determined not to, and Shadow seemed to be seizing control of the body, even if he was allowing Gardas to see what was going on, and to think and feel. The other reason was that Gardas knew he had to bide his time…

 _Shut UP!_ hissed Shadow. _HIDE!_

‘ _Aren’t you going to punish the dragon who hurt your son?_ ’ asked the Sovereign.

‘ _No,_ ’ said Gardas, before Shadow could insist on doing so.

‘ _Very well – she IS a bit big for you to tackle on your own. Caterpillar, will you come out and punish this youngster who hurt her own brother?_ ’

‘ _But you told her to!_ ’ protested Gardas.

‘ _Does that mean she doesn’t have a choice? Perdita, if I told you to jump off the cliff, now, when the moon’s set, would you do it?_ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ said Perdita, looking confused. Did she even remember that Paul was her brother, or that Gardas was her foster-father, or anything else about her life?

‘ _So you admit you’d disobey me? I think that deserves punishment, don’t you? Come on, slug, don’t take all day over it._ ’

The Bronze dragon trudged over to Perdita, held her down with one hind paw, and thrashed her with his tail, breaking all four legs and the long, delicate bones in her wings, and then belabouring her again, hitting the points where she was already hurt. Perdita sprawled on the ground, helpless to defend herself and struggling not to cry.

‘ _Stop it!_ ’ shouted Paul. ‘ _It’s not her fault!_ ’

Now Perdita really did cry, whether from the pain, because she was confused about why she was being punished, or because she finally recognised Paul and understood that she had hurt him. Her dragonish tears ran down her scaly snout, scorching the ground so that the grass around her shrivelled up.

‘ _I’m sorry, my dear,_ ’ said the Bronze dragon. ‘ _But we have to obey the Sovereign, all of us. It’s only by her mercy that we’re allowed to live at all._ ’

‘ _And that, my chickens,_ ’ the Sovereign added to Perseus and Daedalus, ‘ _is what Daddy will have to do to you if you’re naughty. So make sure you do as you’re told, won’t you? As for you,_ ’ (she turned back to Gardas), ‘ _you could have prevented that. If you’d broken the boy’s legs yourself, Perdita wouldn’t have had to do it. And if you’d punished Perdita yourself, you could have given her a lighter beating than that. It was your cowardice that hurt her, and made her tears scorch the earth so that nothing can ever grow there again._ ’

Gardas wasn’t sure precisely what happened after that. His brain shut down and let Shadow take over. When his head cleared, his mouth hurt, and he and everyone apart from the Sovereign and the three Bronze dragons were lying slumped on the ground with all limbs broken.

‘Gardas?’ said Paul, in Westron. ‘Can you hear me now? The Gold dragon’s gone.’


	17. Chapter 17

Paul couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had felt as terrified and helpless as he did now. Even the night when he had slipped away from Auric’s side and gone to hand himself over to Azalar hadn’t been as bad, because he had known why he was doing it. The prophecies said that he would defeat Azalar, and since Azalar’s evil dragon had already burned Paul’s right arm to a shrivelled wreck and stripped him of his magic, then the defeat had to be something a one-armed thirteen-year-old with no magical powers could manage. Even if the dragon ate him, he had told himself then, at least it meant he would be with Bara and Sammaron again, and perhaps somehow being eaten would give the dragon indigestion so that it would die and Azalar would be powerless without it. Or something.

But that had been then, when he hadn’t known Gardas except as an evil flying monster that devoured most of what it encountered and burnt everything else. Since then, he had come to know Gardas as a mostly friendly monster who was trying not to be evil, and who had seemed to be getting better. Even if he and Paul didn’t have much in common, at least they could agree that Perdita was the loveliest baby ever. 

And now – well, first, Perdita had beaten Paul to a pulp while Gardas just stood there watching and doing nothing to stop her, no matter how much Paul had shouted to Perdita to stop, and to Gardas to rescue him. That figured, Paul thought wretchedly. Gardas had always liked Perdita best, because she was a were-dragon like him, and because he wasn’t her real father so he didn’t have to feel guilty about her existence the way he did about Paul. It hadn’t mattered so much about Paul not being Gardas’s favourite, because Paul had Auric, and anyway Beatrice loved all of them. 

But then, Gardas – who had gone berserk with rage when Auric had just been going to give Perdita a bit of a slap – hadn’t done anything to protect Perdita, either, when the wingless bronze dragon was thrashing her mercilessly, again and again. Gardas hadn’t even said anything, other than refusing to punish Perdita himself. It had been Paul who had found himself shouting, in Dragonese, ‘ _Stop it!_ _It’s not her fault!_ ’

After that – it was as though Gardas had been tied down, and had suddenly broken free. He launched himself at the Gold leader, and Paul thought he was about to kill her, but instead, Gardas bowed before her and licked her throat like a dog, and said, ‘ _Can I hurt someone now?_ ’

The Gold dragon smiled, and said, ‘ _Lie down,_ ’ and Gardas obligingly did so. She turned to Martin, and said, ‘ _Beat that little Gules dragon. Not too hard – I don’t want her killed, just her wings crushed._ ’

Martin actually did launch himself at the Gold, snorting flames which looked as if they should have destroyed her wings, but they didn’t even make a mark. The Gold called, ‘ _True-dragons! To me!_ ’ 

Obashu and the Green three-headed dragon looked as if they were about to move forward, but then Obashu hesitated, and the Green dragon’s right head – the one with red eyes – said, ‘ _Why are we obeying her?_ ’ The left head, the smallest of the three, said, ‘ _Because she’s the Sovereign,_ ’ and the three heads began to argue.

‘ _Martin! Fly away!_ ’ called Maz urgently.

‘ _I’ve run away before,_ ’ growled Martin, who was by now grappling at close quarters, slashing at the Gold with his teeth, claws and tail without any noticeable effect. ‘ _I’m not doing that again._ ’

‘ _Gardas! At him!_ ’ said the Gold, and Gardas sprang onto Martin’s back and immobilised him with a single bite to his back, between the spines. The Brown dragon slumped, his wings flopping and his legs splayed at odd angles, but his mouth still snapping at the Gold (who was by now comfortably out of reach) and his nostrils snorting jets of useless fire. The Gold smiled, or at least bared her teeth. ‘ _I don’t think you’ll be running or flying anywhere until I say so,_ ’ she said. ‘ _And now the Gules. Don’t kill her, remember._ ’

Maz had been flying off – another betrayal, but Paul couldn’t blame her – but Gardas shot after her, crunched through her wings with a single snap of his teeth, and brought her back, dropping her at the Gold dragon’s feet like a dog fetching a stick for his master. ‘ _Thank you, Sovereign_ ,’ he said. ‘ _Can I hurt the others, too?_ ’

‘ _Wait,_ ’ said the Gold dragon. ‘ _Obashu, eat that girl._ ’

‘ _No! Threaten the egg!_ ’ called Martin. Obashu took no notice of either suggestion, instead slapping Martin’s face (one of the few parts of him that could still feel pain) with his stinging tail-fin.

‘ _Feeling rebellious, are we?_ ’ said the Gold. ‘ _Gardas, immobilise him._ ’

‘ _He’ll never…_ ’ Obashu sneered, but Gardas was an unstoppable killing machine by now. With blows of his heavy armoured tail, he broke Obashu’s legs and wings.

‘ _Can I eat the girl?_ ’ he asked.

‘ _No,_ ’ said the Gold dragon firmly. ‘ _She’s Obashu’s, not yours. Just beat her._ ’

Princess had taken advantage of the confusion to run away, and was heading down the cliff, but Gardas brought her back, and broke her arms and legs as Perdita had done to Paul.

‘ _Your turn, Green-Eyes,_ ’ said the Gold dragon to the smallest head on the three-headed Green. ‘ _Burn that red-eyed sister of yours off._ ’

‘ _Yes, Sov…_ ’ began the small, green-eyed head, and then blinked. ‘ _What?! You want me to burn Prue?!_ ’

‘ _I won’t let you!_ ’ said the yellow-eyed head in the middle. ‘ _We’re a team of three, remember?_ ’

‘ _She burned you off,_ ’ said the Gold. ‘ _I see it in your memory. Isn’t it time you turned the tables? Think how happy you could be, without her nagging and sneering at you and threatening you all the time._ ’

The green-eyed head hesitated, but Gardas leapt at her and bit off the red-eyed head himself, sweeping it off the cliff with a blow of his tail, as the half-paralysed Green dragon was helpless to respond. As Gardas made his way back to the Gold to await further orders, Obashu managed to hit Gardas in the mouth with the spines on the end of his tail, before Gardas crushed the long, whippy blue tail with his own armoured black one.

‘ _You’re a good fighter,_ ’ the Gold said, ‘ _but you mustn’t anticipate orders. Did I tell you to bite the Green dragon’s head off?_ ’

‘ _No, Thovereign,_ ’ mumbled Gardas, speaking with difficulty. His mouth must be sore from Obashu’s blow. That at least, Paul thought, served him right.

‘ _Do you think you need to be punished?_ ’

‘ _Yeth, Thovereign,_ ’ Gardas whimpered.

‘ _Good boy. Go to my husband for punishment._ ’

Gardas trudged over to the Bronze dragon. The wingless dragon didn’t even need to hold him down, as Gardas meekly submitted to being thrashed until he was incapable of walking or flying.

‘ _You’re a good boy really, Gardas,_ ’ said the Gold dragon. ‘ _I think you’ll be healed sooner than the others. Not this year or next year, but in five or ten years, maybe. When you’ve learnt your lesson. I’ll leave you to think it over for now._ ’ And with that she flew off.

For a while after she had gone, no-one spoke. Then Daedalus, the larger of the two Bronze dragonets, said to his younger brother, ‘ _Come on, Percy, Daddy’s sad. He needs a cuddle._ ’

‘ _No!_ ’ whimpered the younger one – Perseus, that was his name, Paul remembered.

‘ _It’s all right, Daddy won’t hurt us – not unless Mummy says so, anyway. Mummy always says he’ll hurt us, but he never does, does he? And he’s sad, because he doesn’t like having to hurt people._ ’

The two dragonets snuggled up against their father, on either side of the egg. He nuzzled all three of his children affectionately.

Paul decided to try one more time to see if there was anything left of the Gardas he had come to know and love, in the blood-crazed monster who was now lying in a battered heap perhaps a hundred human paces away from him, if any of them had been capable of walking. ‘Gardas?’ he said, in Westron this time. ‘Can you hear me now? The Gold dragon’s gone.’

Gardas wearily lifted his head. ‘ _What happened?_ ’ he asked.

‘Do you know who I am?’ asked Paul.

‘ _You’re Paul, of course,_ ’ said Gardas, puzzled. ‘ _I came to try and rescue you and Perdita, but Perdita was bringing you here, and then the Sovereign made her beat you up, and then made the Bronze beat her up, and then – I don’t remember after that. Did he beat me up, too?_ ’

‘ _I’m afraid so,_ ’ said the wingless Bronze dragon. ‘ _Does anyone else remember what happened?_ ’

‘ _The Sovereign was trying to make us all hurt each other, especially people we loved,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _She even tried to make that Green dragon burn her own heads off._ ’

‘ _She didn’t, did she?_ ’ said Gardas anxiously. ‘ _Hope’s only just regrown after the last time. I could heal her then, but I can’t move to do it now._ ’

‘ _It was just a standard re-education session,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _She hasn’t done it in front of her own children before, but I suppose if she’s hoping the next hatchling is going to be a Gold, she’ll want her heir to grow up seeing how to treat servants who rebel._ ’

‘ _She said Gardas would be healed sooner than the rest of us – maybe in five or ten years’ time,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _What did she mean by that? Dragon bones don’t take that long to heal, do they?_ ’

‘ _Not to heal SOMEHOW, no,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _The first time she did it to me, I was able to hobble after a few months, but of course my leg-bones had set crooked, and my wings were far too misshapen for flying, so I wasn’t agile enough to climb down off the hilltop she’d put me on and get back to the sea. She kept me like that for about ten years, before she healed me so that I could fly again. My legs have always ached since then, but fortunately I don’t use them for swimming, so much as my tail and body._ ’

‘ _What did you live on, if you couldn’t swim or fly?_ ’ asked Gardas. ‘ _Were there rabbits or something?_ ’

‘ _Well, there were, but they soon learned precisely how close they could come to a crippled dragon who couldn’t outrun them,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _So did the birds. No, the Sovereign brought me fish herself, and fed me like a hatchling. Not that I was much more than that anyway – I was only a hundred. She fed me – not regularly, of course, and never quite enough for a growing dragon, because she wanted me to be constantly wondering whether she’d forgotten me, or decided to leave me to starve, so that I’d be grateful when she turned up. After ten years of that, by the time she gave my wings a breath of healing fire, I was so grateful that I’d have done anything for her. So I did – mostly beating up some of the other dragons she wanted re-educated, or else sinking the ships of humans or dwarves who tied to come near us._ ’

‘ _Had you rebelled against her before?_ ’ asked Gardas.

‘ _What? No – I was only a hundred, I wasn’t even interested in politics! No, I’d fled to Wyrms because the humans were after me for killing some druids to stop them killing an innocent girl. And the Sovereign said she thought I needed a lesson, if I wasn’t going to do stupid things like interfering in human politics again._ ’

‘ _The Sovereign’s horrible,_ ’ said Perdita. ‘ _But – when she was here, I thought she was nice, even when she told me to hurt Paul, and then told the other big dragon to hurt me. I wanted her to be my Mummy. Why did I think she was nice, when she’s horrible?_ ’

‘ _It was a spell, wasn’t it?_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _I could feel it. Could you, Martin?_ ’

‘ _Yes,_ ’ said Martin grimly. ‘ _It didn’t make me attack you, but I didn’t have the sense to get away when you said, either. I thought you were immune._ ’

‘ _I think she just wasn’t trying as hard on me,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _She probably doesn’t think a Gules dragon – even a were-dragon who turns into a Gules dragon – is enough of a threat to worry about._ ’

‘ _You two probably have some resistance because you’re part-human,_ ’ said the big Bronze. ‘ _Your young Grey friend might not have the experience to resist, if she’s used to adults being kind and trustworthy. And the Black were-dragon…_ ’

‘ _Went mad,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _I’d been brainwashed before, by other masters. I thought I’d learnt how to rebel, but no – as soon as another tyrant tried to use me as an attack-dog, I went straight back to what I’m used to._ ’

‘ _Not STRAIGHT back,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _You tried not to, at first. Then you seemed to shut your brain down._ ’

‘ _Yes, I could see you were trying,_ ’ said the Bronze. ‘ _I’m sorry I beat you and Perdita, but – I can’t think properly either, when the Sovereign’s around. She influences our brains – true-dragons like Obashu and me even more than were-dragons. The Green dragon managed to resist, because she’s got three heads to argue with each other before reaching any decision._ ’

‘ _But how do you manage to resist?_ ’ Paul asked.

‘ _Oh, that’s easy. We’re loyal,_ ’ said the Bronze.

‘ _But you can complain about her when she’s not here?_ ’ asked Maz.

‘ _That’s right. She’s used to sensing the emotion of loyalty from us, so she hasn’t scanned lately to ask who we’re loyal to,_ ’ said the Bronze. ‘ _I’m loyal to Corona, my fiancée before the Sovereign claimed me. Even if I can’t be with her, I can love her and hope she’s well and safe. As for Obashu…_ ’

‘ _I’m loyal to the Consort,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _Ever since the Sovereign gave me his wings to eat, it means we’re one flesh – going against him would be like tearing myself apart._ ’

‘ _Corona’s got four adopted daughters,_ ’ said the green-eyed head on the Green dragon. ‘ _Are they…?_ ’

‘ _I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,_ ’ said the Bronze sharply. ‘ _Obashu, did I ever ask you what you did with the Grey hatchlings the Sovereign told you to kill?_ ’

‘ _No need to ask, my lord. All safely disposed of,_ ’ said Obashu.

‘ _But…_ ’ began the green-eyed head. Her yellow-eyed sister interrupted her. ‘ _Leave it, Hope. Just shush._ ’

‘ _Anyway, resistance isn’t easy for us, and it’ll be harder after ten years of being grounded and dependent on the Sovereign and being – what did you call it? Brain-cleaned? I’d call it brain-muddying, myself – until the Sovereign deigns to heal you when she’s satisfied of your loyalty. Obashu, that goes for you, too – the Sovereign won’t let you off as lightly as last time, and you don’t want to end up like most of the other dragons on this island. Now, obviously, I can’t consent to your escaping, but Bronze dragons, like Gold dragons, sleep from sunset to sunrise. So I’ll have to ask you not to bring some kind of magical healer here after dark who could heal you all and enable you to fly off before we wake. And in particular, I have to ask you not to kidnap my fine young hatchlings and my egg who’s so close to hatching, because they need to be brought up here where the Sovereign can teach them the proper duties of a Gold dragon and of her Bronze servants. Is that clear?_ ’

Everyone nodded, though Paul wasn’t convinced that Perdita, Hope, or the two Bronze hatchlings had followed this speech. Gardas seemed so peculiar at the moment that Paul couldn’t even be sure whether Gardas had understood – or whether, if he had understood, he or one of the other dragons would betray them to the Sovereign.

But at that moment, from where he was lying, he could see a glint of gold in the sky. ‘ _The Sovereign’s coming back!_ ’ he called.

The Sovereign had brought a freshly roasted cow, which she tore into chunks and distributed between Martin, Obashu, Gardas, Maz, Paul and Princess, even nibbling the meat daintily into human-bite-sized chunks which she dropped into the mouths of the two humans, so that they could eat without the use of their hands. Gold and Bronze dragons lived on sunlight, as Greys lived on moonlight, and the two surviving heads on the Green dragon tried to satisfy their hunger by cropping the little grass that they could reach. Paul would have liked a drink of water, but he didn’t want to risk offending the Sovereign by asking. In any case, his bladder already felt uncomfortably full, and having anything more to drink could only make it worse.

Everyone thanked the Sovereign for the meal, but apart from that she didn’t seem to expect or want any comment. Gardas offered to sing the Bronze hatchlings a lullaby, the way he habitually did for Perdita, but the Sovereign said sharply that Bronze hatchlings didn’t need that sort of mollycoddling, and it was time Perdita learned to do without it, too. So after that, no-one said anything, except for giving the occasional groan of pain. They just had to wait until night fell, when they could try to come up with a plan.


	18. Chapter 18

Gardas was so tired that even the pain from all his fractures could barely keep him awake. He still didn’t know what exactly his body had been up to when all the fighting was going on, and Shadow was refusing to discuss it, but it had left him exhausted, when he had already been weak from loss of blood and near-drowning. 

He was still hungry, too – one cow distributed between four dragons and two humans (even if Maz and the humans were too small to eat much) was barely enough. The Sovereign had established his position as her new favourite by giving him all the crunchy bits like bones, hooves, and horns, which were delicious, even if the sharp edges were uncomfortable on his sore mouth. Gardas had felt guilty about these delicacies not being shared out equally, especially when he knew that the Sovereign was doing it only to make Martin and Obashu jealous, as they had to make do with steaks. He had barely had the heart to eat – well, actually, Maz had eaten the heart, and Paul and Princess had shared the liver and kidneys. In the end, Shadow had commandeered Gardas’s body once more and insisted on making a good meal, since, as he pointed out, they didn’t know when they were going to get fed again.

Now, all he wanted to do was rest and recover from his injuries. But the sun had finally set, the Sovereign and her family were asleep, and the prisoners needed to find an escape plan before daybreak.

‘ _We need to find a healer who’s willing to come here,_ ’ said Maz.

‘ _Great!_ ’ snorted Princess. ‘ _Another Gold dragon, maybe even worse than this one._ ’

‘ _There aren’t any other Golds,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _The Sovereign’s been trying for years to produce an heir._ ’

‘ _Greys have healing power, too,_ ’ pointed out Maz.

‘ _I can heal people, when I’m bigger,_ ’ said Hope.

‘ _I know,_ ’ said Hero gently. ‘ _But you always take a while to regain your powers, when you’ve been cut off and you’re growing back, don’t you?_ ’

‘ _Prue is going to grow back, isn’t she?_ ’ asked Hope.

‘ _Yes, that’s right. The Sovereign was trying to make you tear her off, so that she couldn’t. But Gardas bit her off before you had the chance, because he knew we can always grow back if it’s someone else who cuts us off. That was a very sensible thing for him to do, wasn’t it? Even though he got punished for it, the Sovereign still assumes it was because he was young and over-excited, not because he was trying to protect us, so she still thinks of him as a useful slave._ ’

( _Was that what you did?_ Gardas whispered in his mind to Shadow, who responded with a mental nod.)

‘ _So, Hope can’t help us, Perdita’s too young, and there aren’t any other Golds, Greys or Greens on the island,_ ’ said Princess.

‘ _Not on the ISLAND, no,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _The Consort was talking about a Grey called Corona who used to be his fiancée. Is she still alive, Obashu?_ ’

‘ _That’s right. Living in the Ciderian forest, near the coast. Mother of four adopted dragonets: Luna, Diana, Cynthia and Selena._ ’

‘ _Does she know you brought them?_ ’ asked Maz.‘ _And that they’re her ex-boyfriend’s children?_ ’

‘ _Shouldn’t think so. I drop the hatchlings off when they’re too young to talk much, and she assumes they’re orphans and brings them up. If it wasn’t for my last encounter with Luna, I wouldn’t even know what she named them. But they all seem cheerful and well looked after._ ’

‘ _Do you think she’d come here and rescue us?_ ’ asked Maz.

‘ _Not when she’s got dragonets to look after,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _Obashu has been doing his best to frighten them away from the island for decades – even pinioned one of the dragonets when she tried to come exploring. Not even a Grey can heal that sort of injury – only a Gold could._ ’

‘ _Well, she might have a sister or aunt who doesn’t have children and is willing to take the risk,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _It’s got to be worth a try._ ’

‘ _Hello? We’ve got no way of contacting them,_ ’ pointed out Princess. ‘ _None of us can even walk, let alone fly._ ’

‘ _Not quite,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _My legs are all right – it’s only my wings that are broken. The Sovereign didn’t think a Gules could be a serious threat, I suppose._ ’

‘ _So, what are you going to do? Turn human, climb down the cliffs and swim across?_ ’ asked Princess, who seemed unsure whether to be impressed or sarcastic.

‘ _If I have to._ ’

‘ _You don’t,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _If you come over here, I can heal you._ ’

‘ _NO!_ ’ said both Paul and Hero in unison. ‘ _You donated blood only yesterday – too much blood,_ ’ pointed out Hero. ‘ _You can’t afford to wound yourself again._ ’

‘ _I don’t need to,_ ’ Gardas pointed out. ‘ _I’ve got a cut in my mouth – not too bad, but if I can suck out some blood, I can dribble it on Maz’s wings. Not much, but then Maz is only small when she’s a dragon, so she probably doesn’t need as much as a Green._ ’

‘ _That’s very generous, if you’re sure you don’t mind,_ ’ said Maz politely. She positioned herself under Gardas’s head, and he spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto her wings. In dragon form, he could see well in poor light, and he made out a barely-disguised wince.

‘ _Are you all right?_ ’ he asked.

‘ _Yes, much better, thanks. I think some of Obashu’s venom might have got mixed in with the blood, but at least my wings work now._ ’ She flapped them, experimentally, and took to the skies.

‘ _How long is it until moonrise?_ ’ Paul asked.

‘ _With the moon waning? About – two and a half hours after sunset, and then it’ll be in the sky till midday,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _On the other hand, it’ll be sunrise six and a half hours after moonrise. The real problem’s going to be Maz finding a Grey dragon who’s willing to come here and can heal us and then getting away again before the Sovereign and the Bronzes wake up._ ’

‘ _That’s ONE problem,_ ’ said Obashu.

‘ _Let me guess,_ ’ said Princess. ‘ _Not all the Sovereign’s guards are Bronzes, so they don’t all sleep from sunrise to sunset._ ’

‘ _Correct,_ ’ said Obashu.

‘ _And – if they’re not Bronzes, then they know a Grey isn’t likely to take one as her mate, so she won’t be able to charm them into co-operating?_ ’ added Paul.

‘ _Also correct._ ’

‘ _And they’re all brainwashed and fanatically loyal to the Sovereign,_ ’ added Princess.

‘ _Still correct._ ’

‘ _You don’t know that,_ ’ Gardas pointed out. ‘ _I’ve been brainwashed before, and it’s not that simple. Even when you’re brainwashed, there’s still something in you that knows you’ve been brainwashed, and is angry about it and wants to fight back._ ’

‘ _No, there was something in YOU that felt that way,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _And in Obashu, I suppose. It doesn’t mean it works like that for everyone._ ’

 _I’m tired_ , grumbled Shadow in Gardas’s mind. _I want to go to sleep._ Gardas had to admit that Shadow was being the most sensible person here. ‘ _We can’t do anything about it now,_ ’ he pointed out. ‘ _If Maz and a Grey come back and heal us, they can wake us up. If the Sovereign’s guards come to kill us, we can’t do much about it even if we’re awake, and getting killed in our sleep would probably hurt less. So let’s get some rest._ ’

‘ _Can’t do anything?!_ ’ echoed Paul in astonishment. ‘ _You’re a DRAGON! You can breathe FIRE!_ ’

Gardas wondered why he hadn’t thought of something so obvious. In the last few years, he had been struggling to learn to behave like a civilised person and not set fire to things except when specifically asked to do so (for example, when he and Beatrice and Auric were carrying out tests to see what spells could restore dragon-blighted land). Using fire to cook prey was all right, but the fight with Obashu yesterday – no, earlier today, it was so hard to keep the times straight in his mind – had been the first time in three years that he had tried to use fire against an enemy, and it hadn’t even done Obashu any harm. He didn’t think Shadow could have used fire in the fight with all the other dragons here, or if so, it hadn’t been effective – nobody had any burn-wounds, and apparently he had bitten Prue off the Green dragon, not burnt her off.

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ he said. ‘ _Not thinking straight. Tired…_ ’

‘ _I’m not!_ ’ piped up Perdita. ‘ _I like night-time, when I’m a dragon. What are the stars’ names?_ ’

Gardas tried to think back to astronomy lessons at school, but he couldn’t remember much right now. He could hear Martin giving Perdita a run-down on the main constellations and the stories behind them, as he drifted off to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Paul knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. It was barely evening, and he’d normally have been sitting up reading by candlelight long after it grew dark. Even Perdita, who in human form would have been tucked up in bed long before this, was wide awake as a nocturnal Grey dragon. When the moon rose, an hour before midnight, she became even more talkative:

‘ _Paul, when will I be able to breathe fire?_ ’

‘I don’t know,’ said Paul in Westron – he was tired of talking in Dragonese, and everyone except him and Perdita was asleep by now. ‘The books say normal dragons can breathe fire when they’re about a hundred, even though they’re not properly grown up until they’re two hundred and four. I suppose it might be different for were-dragons. After all, Gardas is only thirty-three, and he can breathe fire, and he’s as big as a full-grown dragon.’

‘ _He’s not very big. I’m nearly as big as Gardas, now._ ’

‘Yes, but that’s because Grey dragons are bigger than Black dragons.’

‘ _Why?_ ’

‘They just are. Maz is nearly big enough for a grown-up Gules dragon, even though that’s tiny, and Martin is nearly big enough for a grown-up Brown, isn’t he? But they’re only my age, so if they were truedragons, they’d still be little babies.’

‘ _When’s Maz coming back?_ ’

‘I don’t know. Soon. Keep your voice down.’

‘ _My wings hurt. And my legs._ ’

‘I know. We’re all hurting. We just have to be patient and wait.’

‘ _If I had healing fire, could I make my legs better now, so I could walk? And then I could make everyone else better._ ’

‘No, it doesn’t work like that. Dragons can only heal other people, not themselves.’

‘ _Gardas can._ ’

‘Only when he turns from a dragon back into a human.’

‘ _He can’t turn into a human on his own, can he? Because he lost his magic._ ’

‘That’s right.’

‘ _So why can he turn into a dragon on his own?_ ’

‘I don’t know. But he can’t really control that, a lot of the time. It’s more like something that happens to him when he gets angry.’

‘ _I’m going to turn into a human,_ ’ Perdita decided. ‘ _Then my wings won’t hurt._ ’

‘No! Wait…’ Paul began. It was bad enough that they had broken bones that weren’t splinted to make them set straight, and moving would surely make the injury worse.

Perdita changed shape anyway, shrinking into the tiny form of a small human child. ‘Ow!’ she gasped.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘My chest hurts. It hurts more than my wings.’

‘Maybe broken wings turn into broken ribs,’ said Paul. ‘You need to change back into a dragon.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re lying on your front, and your broken ribs might pierce your lungs, and that’s dangerous.’

‘I’m thirsty. Please can I have some juice?’

‘No.’

‘Why? I said please.’

‘Because the bottle’s empty. And anyway, it’s in my pocket and my arms hurt too much to get it out, and I can’t get it to you if I could.’ He was lucky that when Perdita had been beating him up, she had missed the bottle, or it would have shattered and cut him. If he got through this adventure alive, it would be nice to bring home a perfectly symmetrical, perfectly transparent glass bottle from a fantasy world – the kind of artefact that only craftsmen in a fantasy world, assisted by their magic ‘machines’, could have the skill to make – as a souvenir. But the bottle belonged to Martin, Paul reminded himself sternly. Martin had used his magic to make a version of the Cars & Computers world that was a real place that you could go to, not just the setting for a make-believe game, and Martin had used the money he had earned in-universe to buy the bottle of fruit juice.

‘I’m hungry, too.’

‘It’ll be moonrise soon. Why don’t you turn back into a dragon? Grey dragons only eat moonlight, don’t they?’

Perdita changed back. ‘ _My wings still hurt,_ ’ she grumbled.

‘Well, you need to rest, or they’ll hurt more. Shall we sing your bedtime song?’

‘ _I’m not sleepy. Dragons can stay up all night._ ’

‘No, but let’s sing it anyway. Just to pass the time.’

Paul wasn’t sure whether he managed to get Perdita to sleep, as he himself fell asleep in the middle of singing. When he woke, the sky was growing paler, and it seemed close to dawn.

‘ _Bel’s ALIVE?_ ’ said a dragon voice that he didn’t recognise. ‘ _I thought the Sovereign killed him?_ ’

‘ _No, she just had his wings torn off,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _She still thought he was good breeding stock, even if she didn’t trust him._ ’

‘ _Why’s he called Belle?_ ’ asked Perdita. ‘ _I thought that was a girl’s name._ ’

‘ _It’s short for Bellerophon,_ ’ said the strange dragon. ‘ _It means Killer-Arrow. But I always called him Bel, and he always called me Cor, because I didn’t want a name that meant “crown”, as if I was a basilisk or something. So – are the “orphans” I adopted all Bel’s children? And the Sovereign’s?_ ’

‘ _Yes,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _Do you have a problem with that?_ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ said the dragon who was presumably Corona. ‘ _They’re still my daughters. It’s just – I thought Bel was dead, all these years. I never even thought of him being here, crippled and a prisoner with that… Sovereign, and it’s just… I mustn’t cry, tears scorch the ground, only…_ ’

‘ _We need something to put them in,_ ’ said Maz. She flew over to Paul, and tugged the glass bottle out of his pocket. She had some difficulty reaching it with only a Gules dragon’s small paws and snout, and Paul wondered whether she would turn back into human form. He had never seen her with no clothes on, even though she and Perdita must have been naked when they turned up in the Cars & Computers world, which meant Martin had seen something Paul hadn’t. He tried half-closing his eyes, in the hope that Maz would think they were shut and feel comfortable about changing, but Maz the dragon managed to get hold of the bottle, and flew off with it to Corona. The big Grey dragon – nearly as big as the Sovereign, and large enough that she could comfortably have flown with dragon Perdita or dragon Gardas clutched in her forepaws – bent her head to the ground so that tiny, fox-sized Maz could hold out the bottle to catch the tears as they trickled down her snout.

‘ _That’s better,_ ’ said Corona eventually. ‘ _Well, I’d better get a move on. It’s nearly…_ ’

‘ _Nearly time for sunrise?_ ’ said the Sovereign.

Paul couldn’t see the rising sun from where he was lying – the edges of the tableland where the Sovereign kept her family were in the way – but it was undeniably daylight. By now, everyone was awake, including Bellerophon, who exclaimed in horror: ‘ _Cor? What are you doing here?_ ’

‘ _I’ve come to offer tribute to the Sovereign,_ ’ said Corona¸ salaaming by stretching out her forelegs flat against the ground as well as bowing her head.

‘ _Really? And what tribute did you imagine I might want from a Grey? If I had wanted treasure, do you think I would have allowed Obashu to keep all the gold and coloured stones he salvaged from the ships he sank? This whole island is mine – the dragons on it, Bronze, Brown, and Blue, are all mine. What could YOU give ME?_ ’

‘ _My grief,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _My acceptance that I may once have had Bellerophon’s love, but that you have him as your mate and the father of your children. The bitterness of my tears in knowing that I have lost. They’re here, in this bottle brought from another world. You may celebrate your victory by drinking them._ ’

The Sovereign snorted with amusement. ‘ _Oh, this is wonderful!_ ’

‘ _Don’t drink it, Sovereign!_ ’ shouted Princess urgently. ‘ _She’s trying to poison you!_ ’

‘ _Do you think I don’t know that?_ ’ said the Sovereign, laughing. ‘ _This must be the most transparent assassination plot I’ve ever seen! And the best of it is: you not only think that I’d be stupid enough to accept a drink from an enemy, but you actually think it would kill me if I did! I’ve lived on dragonish suffering for centuries! So, I’ll drink this “poison” and we’ll see what happens, shall we?_ ’

She grabbed the bottle in her mouth, and lifted her head to swallow the contents. Paul wondered whether Corona or Bellerophon or both would leap on the Sovereign while her attention was distracted, but they only watched in horrified fascination. After a few moments, the Sovereign’s legs splayed, and she mumbled, ‘ _Gak’h whak hakkeng,_ ’ before her head slumped to the ground.

‘ _Is she dead?_ ’ asked Princess.

‘ _I – don’t know,_ ’ said Corona, sounding as if she was near to passing out herself, though the moon was still a clear white half-circle in the bright summer sky. ‘ _She might – be just unconscious._ ’

‘ _In that case, can I suggest that you heal as many of us as possible, so that we can escape before she wakes up?_ ’ asked Obashu.

‘ _I can try,_ ’ said Corona. She plodded towards Obashu first, and huffed on his crumpled wings, but there was no sign of fire. ‘ _No. It’s no good. I can’t heal any more._ ’

‘ _What? Why can’t you? Why didn’t you tell Maz before you agreed to come?_ ’ demanded Paul.

‘ _I could have – then. If I’d just healed everyone and got us out before dawn, instead of getting upset and crying. But – I’m a killer, now. I’m tarnished. I’ll never heal – or fly – ever again._ ’

Paul had read that when Grey dragons grew very old – typically when they were over eight hundred, or in some cases as late as a thousand – their scales grew darker and less shiny, and they lost the ability to metabolise moonlight. He wasn’t sure how this worked – surely, if their scales were less reflective, they should be absorbing more light instead of bouncing it off? – but everyone who had observed Grey dragons first-hand confirmed that it was true. But then, the books also said that Grey dragons were the gentlest of all dragons and never killed any living creature. And that couldn’t be true, because Corona had killed the Sovereign…

‘ _Are you dying?_ ’ asked Maz. ‘ _Is there anything we can do for you?_ ’

‘ _I’m going to die,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _I don’t know how long it’ll take. I can’t live on moonlight any more, so I’ll soon starve. You know my sister Chango? The one who’s looking after the four girls while I’m away, and who promised to adopt them if I died?_ ’

‘ _Yes, but…_ ’

‘ _Please – tell her I didn’t die in vain. Tell her the Sovereign is dead. And tell Luna and Diana and Cynthia and Selene that I love them very much._ ’

‘ _Can’t you tell them yourself?_ ’ asked Bellerophon. ‘ _Diana must be sixty by now – would she be big enough to fly here?_ ’ The Grey nodded wretchedly. ‘ _And your friends could carry Luna and the younger ones. I’d like to have a chance to know my daughters – and give them a chance to meet their brothers. And I think at the very least, your daughters should have a chance to say goodbye to you before you die._ ’

‘ _Why do you need to die?_ ’ asked Hope. ‘ _If you can’t eat moonlight, you could eat leaves and grass, like us, couldn’t you?_ ’

‘ _I could,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _If I wanted to go on living._ ’

‘ _But you’ve got to!_ ’ protested Paul. ‘ _What about your children? Even if they’re adopted, you’re the only parent they’ve had since they were babies. My adoptive parents – died when I was twelve…_ ’ He decided to drop the euphemism, since Gardas himself never tried to gloss over the atrocities he had committed. ‘ _Gardas – the black dragon here, he’s my biological father – killed them. It wasn’t really Gardas’s fault, because he’d been brainwashed by a tyrant just like the Sovereign. I forgive him, and I’m happy living with him, and my birth mother, and my stepfather, now, and I love all of them. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss my first parents._ ’

‘ _Chango and the rest of the tribe will look after the girls. No-one is an orphan, among Grey dragons. But they’re better off remembering me as the shining silver dragon I once was, and not seeing me tarnished._ ’

‘ _Some of us were always dark,_ ’ Gardas pointed out.

‘ _That’s different! I’ve committed a hideous crime!_ ’

‘ _Not nearly as bad as the things I’ve done to innocent people,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _When I last had to deal with a tyrant, killing him was the LEAST bad thing I did._ ’

‘ _And I escaped into a fantasy world to avoid having to face him,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _You had the courage to come here when you didn’t have to._ ’

‘ _Yes, and now my life is over,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _Even if there was enough grass here for me to live on – for me and this Green dragon, until her other head regrows and she’s able to fly away – my life is effectively over. I’ll never be able to fly again._ ’

‘ _Neither will I,_ ’ pointed out Bellerophon. ‘ _Maybe we could keep each other company?_ ’

‘ _Oh, Bel!_ ’ Corona’s voice softened in concern, finally roused out of her own self-pity by compassion for her lover. ‘ _I’m so sorry about everything._ ’

Paul had a limited view from where he was lying, but by craning his head over, he could see Corona plod slowly and wearily, like a very old dragon, over to Bel, and nuzzle him. Perseus scrambled out of the way, but Daedalus looked solemnly up at the big Grey. ‘ _Are you going to kill us, too?_ ’ he asked matter-of-factly.

‘ _No. Definitely not. You’ve done nothing to deserve that. I just – if you meet your sisters, please don’t hate them for what I did, will you? I don’t hate you for what your mother did._ ’

For a few minutes, no-one said anything. The sky grew brighter, and the air warmer. There should have been birds singing, but apparently birds didn’t dare come here, apart from a few squawking seagulls overhead. The seagulls grew quiet again, and it was so quiet that Paul could hear a cracking noise. He peered over to see that the egg nestled against Bellerophon’s body was hatching at last. And then a damp, egg-stained Gold hatchling emerged, stretched her wings, and nudged Corona’s foreleg with the horny protruberance that she, like all new hatchlings, had on the end of her snout. Corona bent her head and licked the hatchling until she gleamed all over. Even newly-hatched, she was bigger than Perseus, who must be twelve years old, as truedragons were only able to breed every twelve years.

‘ _Mummy?_ ’ said the hatchling.

‘ _No, little one,_ ’ said Corona sadly. ‘ _I killed your Mummy._ ’

‘ _Mummy!_ ’ said the hatchling firmly.

‘ _She wants you to be her Mummy,_ ’ translated Daedalus.

‘ _I’m afraid that makes it a Sovereign’s command,_ ’ said Bellerophon, sounding amused. ‘ _She’s adopted you. Since you’d already adopted her older sisters, it seems only fair._ ’

‘ _But – I’m not – she’s too young to make that decision…_ ’

‘ _Perhaps she is. Traditionally, if a Sovereign dies before her heir comes of age, then the new Sovereign’s father governs until she turns two hundred and four. So, as Regent, I confirm my Sovereign’s choice of adoptive mother, and, on her behalf, I command you to stay alive and in as good health as you possibly can, as long as she needs you to bring her up._ ’

‘ _Uh – thank you,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _I’m not sure I’ll be much of a role model for an absolute ruler, though. Greys don’t work like that._ ’

‘ _They have wise elders, don’t they? Like your mother?_ ’

‘ _Oh, everyone goes to my mother for advice, yes,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _But it’s not as if they actually follow her advice if they don’t feel like it. We’re not the sort of dragons who give orders._ ’

‘ _Then maybe you can show the new Sovereign that there are different ways of doing things,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _It’s about time we had a break with tradition._ ’

‘ _Can we call her something other than the Sovereign?_ ’ asked Corona. ‘ _To me, that still means her mother._ ’

‘ _This IS the Sovereign, now,_ ’ Bellerophon pointed out. ‘ _If her mother was still alive, she’d be called the Crown, and if she had a Gold younger sister, that sister would be the Noble._ ’

‘ _But those are just titles,_ ’ protested Corona. ‘ _Can’t she have a personal name of her own, to distinguish her from all the other Sovereigns before her? At least while she’s growing up?_ ’

‘ _Would you like another name, my Sovereign?_ ’ asked Bellerophon.

The hatchling clung to Corona’s forepaw. ‘ _Mummy!_ ’ she said again.

‘ _I think she’s on your side,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _So – what do you want to call her?_ ’

‘ _I don’t know,_ ’ Corona admitted.

‘ _Sundance?_ ’ suggested Bellerophon.

‘ _Dandelion!_ ’ said Perdita.

‘ _Aurelia?_ ’ suggested Corona.

‘ _Mummy!_ ’ said the new Sovereign happily.

‘ _Aurelia it is, then,_ ’ said Bellerophon.

Paul’s neck was aching from peering over at the dragon family. He rolled his head back so that he was looking straight up at the sky again. He could make out two dragons circling overhead. For a moment, he hoped that they might be more Greys, come to heal him and Gardas and Perdita and the others, and help them escape before it was too late. But as the sun’s rays lit the flying figures, he could see that they were bright, gleaming Bronze.


	20. Chapter 20

Gardas tensed as the newcomers prepared to land. He couldn’t do much to fight them, but he could at least see if his fire made any impression on the new Bronzes. Maybe he could shield the youngest hatchlings with his body – though metallic dragons were so much bigger than he was that there wasn’t even room for Perseus or Aurelia to huddle under him, let alone Daedalus and Perdita. Tiny Maz was the only person here who could fly, and while Bellerophon and Corona could at least walk, these new dragons might attack from the air.

His senses were sharper enough in dragon form that he could hear the flying Bronzes talking long before they landed.

‘ _All right, Ajax, do you know where we are?_ ’ said one.

‘ _Uh – over the Sovereign’s residence?_ ’ said the other.

‘ _That’s right. Now, it’s quite crowded today – lots of dragons down there – but there’s a clear space at one end, big enough for both of us. So I’m going to land there, and I want you to land just to the right of me, as close as possible, okay?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Phoenix sir,_ ’ said Ajax. ‘ _Is the Sovereign there?_ ’

‘ _Just land,_ ’ said Phoenix awkwardly. ‘ _I’ll explain when we land._ ’ 

He whistled a series of high-pitched trills as he dived down and landed. Ajax landed a moment later, accidentally treading on Phoenix’s tail. ‘ _Oh, I’m sorry, sir!_ ’ he said.

‘ _Not your fault,_ ’ said Phoenix, though he winced. ‘ _Now, we’re at the Sovereign’s residence, and Sovereign’s Consort Bellerophon, the Sovereign’s Bronze hatchlings Daedalus and Perseus, and the Sovereign’s heir, the newly-hatched Gold, are all here._ ’

‘ _And the Sovereign?_ ’ Ajax was bowing low with his head and forelegs, much more sincerely than Corona had done earlier. He was smaller than Phoenix and Bellerophon, and his horns, like Martin’s, had barely begun to curve. 

As Gardas had already guessed, the young dragon was blind, with empty holes where his eyes should have been. _More torture,_ Gardas thought in disgust, and wondered what offence the Sovereign had used as a pretext to mutilate such a young dragon so cruelly. When Phoenix moved his tail carefully out of the blind dragon’s way, Gardas could see that it was stiff and crooked, as if it had been broken and never set properly. _More torture!_ Shadow thought, and thumped his tail in glee, wondering whether the Sovereign had inflicted these injuries herself or instructed a subordinate to do it.

Daedalus and Perseus ran up to Ajax excitedly, licking his face and calling out greetings. Ajax nuzzled them in turn. ‘ _Greetings, young princes,_ ’ he said. ‘ _Is your Sovereign mother here?_ ’

‘ _I’m afraid the old Sovereign is dead,_ ’ said Phoenix.

Ajax looked as if he could have howled with grief, if he hadn’t been trying to be on his best behaviour, and not to upset the Sovereign’s children. His ears and his wings drooped. ‘ _The Sovereign is dead; long live the Sovereign,_ ’ he said sombrely. ‘ _I’m sorry if my tactless words offended you, young princes,_ ’ he added. The Bronze dragonets said nothing, but went on licking Ajax’s face. ‘ _So, are we here for the Sovereign’s funeral, sir?_ ’ he asked. ‘ _Who else is here? The other Bronze captains? Have they brought their Blind, too?_ ’

‘ _No,_ ’ said Phoenix. ‘ _Obashu the Blue is here, injured and immobilised. Apart from the Sovereign’s family and Obashu, the other dragons here are outsiders. There’s an adult Grey, badly tarnished and unable to fly; a young Grey perhaps a little younger than Daedalus, an adolescent Brown, adult Green, and adult Black, all injured and immobilised; an adolescent Gules, unhurt; and two adolescent humans, injured and immobilised._ ’

‘ _WHAT?_ ’ roared Ajax, rearing up on his hind legs. ‘ _Is the Consort all right? What are humans doing here? Did they kill the Sovereign? I’ll kill them! What HAPPENED?_ ’

‘ _Patience, Ajax,_ ’ said Phoenix. ‘ _My lord Bellerophon, could you explain to us what happened?_ ’

‘ _What happened is that the older Sovereign decided to drink a Grey dragon’s tears, and died as a result,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _As the new Sovereign is only just hatched, I will govern as her Regent until she comes of age, on her two hundred and fourth birthday._ ’

‘ _Yes, Lord Regent,_ ’ said Phoenix. ‘ _Bow to the Lord Regent, Ajax._ ’ But Ajax was already bowing. ‘ _Lord Regent, what are your orders? What should we do to these intruders?_ ’

‘ _My first order is this: no dragon is to harm a dragon or were-dragon. Not oneself, and not another dragon. No dragon is to harm these humans, who are protégés of two of the dragons here. No dragon is to harm a kobold or a dwarf. And except in self-defence, no dragon is to kill any human._ ’

‘ _Yes, Lord Regent,_ ’ said Phoenix uneasily. ‘ _Uh – when you say “harm”, does that include punishment beatings?_ ’

‘ _Definitely,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _Since we currently don’t have a Sovereign with the power to heal them, we can’t afford to put anyone out of action. If any of the Greys can bring themselves to forgive us for the way we have persecuted them, I hope that some of them may be willing to come here to heal all those whose injuries respond to a Grey dragon’s magic. If any humanoids with medical skills are willing to come here and treat recent fractures before they set crookedly, these humanoids are to be welcomed as honoured guests, paid well for their services, and allowed to leave when they choose. For those whose injuries are beyond a Grey’s power to heal, the new Sovereign will heal them when her fires develop._ ’

‘ _Does that mean no more blindings, either?_ ’ asked Phoenix.

‘ _Absolutely no more blindings._ ’

‘ _With respect, have you considered what this will do to morale?_ ’ said Phoenix. ‘ _I realise you’ve never been blinded, so it’s hard for you to understand, but – well, a Bronze who hasn’t learnt the courage it takes to fly without sight just isn’t – adult. It’s a rite of passage. Would you deny your own sons that experience?_ ’

‘ _It was a tradition invented by the former Sovereign only a hundred years ago,_ ’ retorted Bellerophon. ‘ _Most of the Bronzes older than our generation never went through it – are you saying they’re not adult?_ ’

‘ _But don’t you want the new Sovereign to have loyal officers?_ ’ protested Phoenix. ‘ _The six years I spent flying blind were probably the most important part of my training. The Sovereign herself trained me to come to her whistle, and the day when she decided I was worthy to have my sight restored was the second proudest day of my life – the proudest was the day when she first chose me as worthy to claw my eyes out in the first place, and I managed to do it without flinching. Since then, I’ve trained dozens of Blind, like Ajax here, and there’s no other way of building such a close bond of trust and obedience between a senior officer and a subordinate. But if we go through the next hundred years with young Bronzes growing up without learning discipline that way, flying where they choose and doing what they like – perhaps laughing at the current generation of Blind, or even feeling sorry for them – then what will civilisation be like in a hundred years’ time?_ ’

‘ _Two hundred,_ ’ said Bellerophon firmly. ‘ _The Sovereign should be able to heal the current Blind in a hundred years or so, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to reinstate the custom at that point. If she chooses to reinstate it when she comes of age, that’s her decision._ ’

‘ _But how will she understand its importance, if it wasn’t a tradition she grew up with?_ ’ Phoenix argued.

‘ _Throughout her early childhood, she’ll know plenty of Blind, and understand the bond between them and their leaders, like you and Ajax,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _After all, I’ll need someone to teach her and my other children how to fly, now that their mother isn’t around, and I imagine young Sovereign Aurelia will be accompanying you on a lot of flights._ ’

Phoenix bowed. ‘ _Lord Regent, you would trust me with your children?_ ’

‘ _Of course. You’re a good officer, and you’ve been a good friend of mine since we were hatchlings – and you have the courage to argue with me. If I can trust you to tell me when you disagree with me, I think I can trust you not to hurt my children?_ ’

‘ _How dare you? Of course he wouldn’t!_ ’ burst out Ajax.

‘ _Thank you, Ajax,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _You’re an honourable dragon, and so is Phoenix, I know. But I also want the young Sovereign to spend time with all kinds of dragons – with the Greens and the Greys, if they’re willing to tolerate her, with the Browns and Blues and Blacks of this island, and with were-dragons – and to understand that the beliefs of some Bronzes who were trained by the previous Sovereign are not the only possible way of thinking. Incidentally, Ajax,_ ’ he added, ‘ _what do you think about blinding? Considering that you’re now likely to stay blind for the next hundred years, I mean?_ ’

Ajax considered. ‘ _Well – I won’t be a properly grown-up Bronze without it,_ ’ he said. ‘ _So, I hoped I could be a grown-up for my hundred and fifty-sixth birthday. But if my friends and I don’t get our eyes back until we’re TWO hundred and fifty-six, that means we’ll be the most grown-up grown-ups EVER!_ ’

They would become grown-ups without having any kind of normal adolescence, Gardas thought. Even Paul, who had been marked out as chosen saviour and defeater of Azalar by the age of thirteen, had managed to move on from that to become a normal teenager who enjoyed hanging out with his friends and grumbling about how embarrassing his dad was. But what about Princess, who had been a dragon’s prisoner since she was a small child, and Martin, who had had to run away to a different world? What chance of a normal life did they have? What must life have been like for Beatrice, getting pregnant at sixteen, and then having to give her baby away? Of course, Gardas’s own life hadn’t been much fun at any time between birth and age thirty, but that was different. All these other people _deserved_ to be happy.

But then, Paul had been left disabled, losing his magic (permanently) as these dragons had lost their sight (temporarily). If Paul could cope, probably Ajax and his friends would, too. If the officers who were training them gave them permission, they might be allowed free time to go on flights with other, sighted dragons their own age. Perhaps some of them would fall in love, choose mates and have hatchlings before being able to see again. They were so young.

It occurred to Gardas that he was young, too – or fairly young, at any rate. In chronological terms, he was barely over a fifth of Ajax’s age, but his body was an adult, and, when it wasn’t busy fighting, it couldn’t help noticing how wonderful the Green dragon looked and smelled. Even with one of her heads barely regrown, and another still trying to regrow from yesterday’s attack, she was still beautiful, with her soft, moss-green fur. Her wings would grow strong again when her heads were able to control them, and then maybe Hope could come and breathe on his wings and heal them, and the two of them could go flying together.

Or if she wasn’t interested, maybe she’d heal another male and fly off with him, and leave Gardas grounded and helpless to interfere. Greens usually chose Blue mates rather than Black, according to Paul’s book. There must be plenty of handsome Blues on this island. Just as long as it wasn’t Obashu…

 _If it’s Obashu_ , Shadow growled, _I’ll kill him. I’ll rip that Green slut’s wings off the way the Sovereign did to her mate. I’ll…_

 _You’ll respect her decision,_ said Gardas sternly.

 _Don’t want to,_ ’ Shadow muttered. Eventually he added, _All right._


	21. Chapter 21

Paul’s mouth felt dry, and his head was aching with thirst and heat. Every drop of liquid in his body seemed to have been sweated out, apart from that forming a moist stain around his groin. Compared with all this, the pain in his arms and legs was a minor problem.

As far as he could see from where he was lying, Princess was just as ill, and getting badly sunburnt into the bargain. She wouldn’t be used to sunlight, after living in a cave for most of her life. Gardas, Martin, Obashu, and the multi-headed Green had their mouths lolling open, panting like dogs. Gardas’s ears were drooping in a way that usually meant depression, guilt or shame, but Paul wasn’t sure now whether this was a sign that he knew what he had done wrong, or just that he was exhausted with pain, heat and thirst.

The metallic dragons seemed fine, at least physically, but Perdita was disturbingly quiet, quieter than Paul had ever known her. ‘ _Perdita? Are you all right?_ ’ he asked.

‘ _My wings hurt,_ ’ said Perdita. ‘ _And my legs._ ’

‘ _Yes, my arms and legs hurt, too. But it’s only until someone can heal us, and then we can all go home._ ’

Perdita didn’t say anything.

‘ _Bellerophon?_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _My friends must be getting very thirsty. Is there a freshwater spring near here where I can rinse out the water bottle, and fetch drinks for them?_ ’

‘ _I think I’d rather have Phoenix do that,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _Time’s getting on, and if you’ve got the energy, I’d feel happier if you could spend it flying to Cideria again, and seeing whether any more Greys can come out and heal your friends – and the Sovereign’s subjects – before the moon sets._ ’

Maz set off on her errand. Phoenix and Ajax swore loyalty oaths, vowing to love, honour and obey the new Sovereign Aurelia, and protect her with their lives, as long as they should live; to obey Lord Regent Bellerophon until the Sovereign Aurelia came of age, provided he remained loyal to the Sovereign; to honour and protect the Sovereign’s whole family, including her father, stepmother, siblings, and any half-siblings to come, as long as they posed no threat to the Sovereign; and to do no harm to any dragon, kobold, or dwarf, unless it was essential in defence of the Sovereign’s life. Bellerophon in turn promised to honour and protect his loyal vassals, and to bring the new Sovereign up to honour them, to rule with justice and mercy, and to guard her subjects’ health in body and mind. The Sovereign crawled forward, put her paws on Ajax’s lowered snout, and licked him affectionately.

‘ _While you’re down there, fetching drinks, I’d appreciate it if you could tell people what’s happened, and send the other Bronzes up to meet the new Sovereign,_ ’ Bellerophon said. ‘ _Bronze captains and their Blind first, then the rest of the Bronzes, then other dragons. I want every Wyrmian subject of the old Sovereign who’s capable of flying, to come here as soon as possible. The ones who can’t fly – if their injuries are curable, we’ll try to get them healed as soon as possible. For those with injuries beyond a Grey’s healing powers, I’ll need you to carry the new Sovereign on a tour of the island, so that they can swear to her. Is that understood?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Lord Regent,_ ’ said Phoenix, bowing. He took the glass bottle carefully in his huge jaws, and flapped off, humming (since he couldn’t very well whistle with a bottle in his mouth) for Phoenix to follow him.

‘ _Why did it need to be Bronzes first?_ ’ asked Corona. ‘ _Why captains and their Blind first?_ ’

‘ _All the other dragons on this island are used to obeying the Bronzes,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _They aren’t used to thinking for themselves, and most of them probably aren’t ready to cope with divided loyalties, either. And this generation of Blind are in for a frustrating time, knowing that no matter how loyal they prove, they can’t be healed for at least a century. Being among the first to swear to the new Sovereign – and knowing that she’s willing to be friendly to them even before they’re officially judged worthy to be healed – might help them not to lose heart._ ’

‘ _What if they don’t want to swear to the Sovereign?_ ’ protested Corona. ‘ _Or what if they don’t want to swear to someone who killed the old Sovereign?_ ’

‘ _Then I want them to come here, so that we can give them our word that they’re free to leave and that none of my subjects will pursue them or harm them,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _I don’t want subjects who feel trapped in Wyrms but resent the new rulers. And I want to have a chance to answer any questions they might have._ ’

At this point, Aurelia, still crawling around to explore the strange world on which she had hatched, nearly fell off the edge of a cliff. Corona, with a surprising turn of speed for a dragon who considered herself tarnished and close to death, shot out her head and grabbed the little Gold hatchling by the tail and hauled her back onto firm ground. ‘ _Be careful, that’s dangerous!_ ’ she said, when she had the Sovereign clasped firmly between her front paws. ‘ _Would you like a song?_ ’

‘ _Mummy!_ ’ said Aurelia enthusiastically. So Corona sang her a ballad about a dragon who flew to the moon. Daedalus and Perseus listened, too. Perdita seemed to be tuning out, refusing to pay attention. To Paul, she looked as if she needed a cuddle more than anything – but she was out of his reach or Gardas’s, and in any case, handling her carelessly might make her injuries worse.

More Bronze dragons came, heard what had happened, took their loyalty oaths, and set off to spread the word. The Sovereign, who didn’t seem to need to sleep in the daytime like human babies, happily greeted each of her new subjects. Most of the Bronzes were in pitiful condition. Apart from the blinded young dragons, many of their elders flew awkwardly because one wing was torn or crooked, or landed carefully so as not to jar a damaged tail or paw. But the ones who were in physically perfect condition were the most pathetic of all. These were the ones who asked no questions, showed no emotion – neither sorrow nor anger nor relief at the old Sovereign’s death, nor joy at meeting her heir – but merely said, ‘ _Yes, Lord Regent,_ ’ recited the loyalty oath as Bellerophon dictated it to them, and flew off again. Admittedly, Paul wasn’t an expert on dragon behaviour, but after three years of life with Gardas – not to mention playing with neighbours’ pet Gules dragons – he was fairly used to reading dragon moods. Here, there seemed to be nothing.

‘ _Like machines,_ ’ Martin whispered, after one of these dragons had departed. Even without having spent much time in a fantasy world like the one Martin had created, Paul knew what he meant. In Cars & Computers, an important part of the world-building was that, although horses did exist (a description of a visit to a national park might well include grazing herds of wild ponies), you were unlikely to have proficiency in horse-riding unless you chose either ‘wealthy aristocrat’ or ‘farm worker’ as your background. Most player-characters came from urban backgrounds, and on the rare occasions when horses or donkeys came into the story, it was considered good role-playing to forget that they needed to be fed, watered and groomed, and to be surprised that they might kick or bite, or just decide not to obey their riders. Making an in-character comment like, ‘Where do I press Play?’ when your character was required to get on a horse for the first time was even better. It had seemed funny, then. Now, meeting dragons who behaved like mythical bicycles and cars, it was just depressing.

Phoenix flew back and forth, bringing drinks for the humans, Gardas, Obashu, and Martin, and holding the bottle between his front paws to give each of them in turn a chance to drink. Martin briefly took human form so that he would be smaller and satisfied with less water, even though it was hard for him to drink at all as a paralysed human slumped face-down on the ground. Gardas, unable to change shape, tried to make do with as little water as Martin and the humans did. Obashu blew cooling breaths, not icy enough to hurt, but just cold enough to soothe his and Gardas’s injuries (nobody else was within close enough reach) and to shield them from the sun. Perdita didn’t even bother asking for a drink. Admittedly, as a Grey, she didn’t need to eat or drink very often while in dragon form, but it wasn’t like her not to ask.

Maz returned, tired and despondent. ‘ _Nobody wants to come,_ ’ she said. ‘ _They wouldn’t even believe me when I said Corona was still alive. And it’s past moonset now, anyway._ ’

‘ _I think I’m getting my fires back,_ ’ said Hope. ‘ _I could heal someone now._ ’

‘ _Yeah, great,_ ’ said Prudence. ‘ _Except that they’re all out of range._ ’

‘ _Prue! You’re back! Couldn’t we walk over to them?_ ’

‘ _Not yet._ ’ Prudence had managed to regrow, but she was still tiny. Her eyes and horns hadn’t even reappeared, but her mouth was awake and sneering.

‘ _I could bring some of them over to you,_ ’ suggested Corona. ‘ _Either of the humans – or the were-dragons, if they take human form._ ’

‘ _Do Perdita first!_ ’ called Paul urgently. He was becoming seriously worried about his young adopted sister.

‘ _Do the humans first,_ ’ Gardas argued. ‘ _They can’t even eat or drink by themselves, with their arms broken._ ’

‘ _If you did Martin first, he’d be able to defend us if there’s any trouble,_ ’ said Princess.

They were interrupted by another pair of Bronze dragons. The blinded youngster was the smallest that Paul had seen so far, with horns barely even budded, and was holding his leader’s tail-tip in his mouth as if he was terrified of losing contact for a moment.

‘ _Orpheus!_ ’ cried Corona. ‘ _You bad boy! Have you any idea how worried your mother is about you?_ ’

‘ _Orpheus!_ ’ called Hope. ‘ _Can we give you a hug?_ ’

Orpheus’s tail twitched with annoyance, or perhaps embarrassment, but he let Corona lead him forward to nestle against the Green dragon’s fur. Hope breathed a few puffs of blue fire over him. Orpheus blinked, then howled ‘ _NO-O-O!_ ’ and then he would have plunged his claws into his eyes if Corona hadn’t grabbed his head by the spines on the back of his neck, and held it out of reach.

‘ _Oh, well DONE!_ ’ snapped Prue. ‘ _You had enough fire to heal one of our allies, and instead you used it on a Bronze who defected to Wyrms. And he’s not even grateful, is he?_ ’

‘ _What’f wrong?_ ’ asked Corona, her mouth still full of the back of Orpheus’s head.

‘ _I’m dishonoured!_ ’ moaned Orpheus.

‘ _Join the club,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _Look at me._ ’ She let go, so that Orpheus could look round at her dull, dark grey scales.

‘ _You’re tarnished,_ ’ Orpheus admitted, ‘ _but at least you’re not a coward. You did what you had to do to get your mate back, even if it left you tarnished and grounded._ ’

‘ _Do you think you’re a coward?_ ’ Corona asked.

‘ _Of course I am! Look at me! I didn’t even dare claw my eyes out properly – I just scratched them enough to scar them. If I’d done it properly, Hope wouldn’t have been able to heal me. I’m not WORTHY to be healed!_ ’

‘ _You’re Chia’s boy, aren’t you?_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _You must be, what, a hundred and thirty-two, now? Two sisters: Selardi must be a hundred and twenty, and Gleti a hundred and eight, now?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Lord Regent,_ ’ said Orpheus.

‘ _Chia took you with her, didn’t she, when the Greys were expelled?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Lord Regent. I came back when I was a hundred and twenty. I wanted to prove I could be a worthy subject, like my father._ ’

‘ _When were you blinded?_ ’ Bellerophon asked.

‘ _As soon as I came back._ ’

‘ _At a hundred and twenty?_ ’ Bellerophon was shocked. ‘ _The late Sovereign thought you were ready?_ ’

‘ _She said so. I meant to be, only – I was a coward. I didn’t do it deeply enough, and I – I was too frightened to fly at all, when I couldn’t see. I only managed to open my wings when Captain Xerxes let me hold his tail-tip in his mouth. I was wrong to come back to Wyrms. I’m not fit to serve the Sovereign – any Sovereign._ ’

‘ _But do you want to serve the new Sovereign?_ ’

‘ _Yes, Lord Regent. Serving the Sovereign of Wryms is all I’ve ever wanted. I missed Wyrms so much, when we were banished._ ’

‘ _He’s a good boy,_ ’ said Xerxes. ‘ _A bit timid, but he does his best._ ’

‘ _Then I’m willing to take your oath,_ ’ said Bellerophon.

Xerxes and Orpheus swore their vows, and then Bellerophon fixed his eyes directly on the trembling young dragon. ‘ _Orpheus, son of Chia and Diomedes, I have a special task for you. You are to go to your mother and her tribe, and tell them of the situation we face: many dragons injured, and no dragons competent to heal, as both Corona and the Green dragon Hope, Hero and Prudence are incapacitated, and the Sovereign is a new hatchling. Tell them that the Lord Regent is engaged to be Corona’s mate, and that we, the male dragons of Wyrms, are truly sorry for all the wrongs we have done to females in the past, and hope only that we can make reparation. You are to plead with them to come back – and if they won’t come, you are to stay with them until they agree._ ’

Orpheus gulped, but he said, ‘ _Yes, Lord Regent,_ ’ and flew off.

‘ _That was a harsh thing to do,_ ’ said Corona, when the young Bronze had left.

‘ _To Orpheus, or to the Greys?_ ’

‘ _Either. How would you have liked being sent home to be fussed over by your mum, when you were his age?_ ’

‘ _I wouldn’t mind it now,_ ’ said Bellerophon. ‘ _Is she still alive?_ ’

‘ _Who, old Mahina? Very much so. She’d have wanted to come to you, if she’d known you were still alive, but – well, she’s got grandchildren – your sisters’ children – to look after, and I didn’t want to risk her life as well as mine, just for a story that might be a trap. I wasn’t sure whether to believe a Gules dragon I’d never met in my life, myself, but I couldn’t bear not to come, just in case it was true. But they’ve all known Orpheus since he was a hatchling, and they do know that whatever else he is, he’s not a liar._ ’


	22. Chapter 22

Gardas wondered why the heat should make him feel so tired. He was a dragon, after all – a creature capable of breathing fire. But then, when he was the one breathing out fire, he was in control. ( _No, you’re not!_ whispered Shadow. _I’M the dragon part of you. Breathing fire is MY job!_ ) But now, the sun beat down on him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He could see Paul turning pink in the sun, especially his torso, which was less tanned than his face and arms. Princess at least had her dress to cover her, but her face was red and swollen, and she could barely open her eyes. Would the humans even last until the Greys came – if they came?

Perdita looked exhausted. Being tired usually made her more argumentative, as she struggled to come up with reasons why it shouldn’t be bedtime yet, but now she was horribly quiet.

‘ _Do you want to go to sleep for a while?_ ’ he asked, after the latest pair of Bronzes had left. ‘ _Grey dragons normally sleep in the daytime.’_

 _‘I can’t sleep._ ’

‘ _Is it too noisy for you, with all these people flying in and talking?_ ’

‘ _No._ ’

‘ _Is it because you’re hurting too much?_ ’

‘ _No._ ’

‘ _Are you feeling sad?_ ’

‘ _No._ ’ But Gardas had a feeling that this last ‘ _No,_ ’ was a lie. Of course she was sad – she was a sensitive, caring little girl/dragonet who had not only been hurt, and seen her friends hurt, but was now meeting a whole string of people who thought that deliberately hurting themselves was normal, and felt guilty about not hurting themselves badly enough. But she didn’t want to talk about it, and there was nothing he could do to make things all right. Gardas realised how helpless Beatrice must feel when he, Gardas, was depressed and refusing to be comforted. There was a song Beatrice sometimes sang him, when he was so despondent that reasonable arguments couldn’t change his mind. Maybe he could offer it to Perdita now? But personalised to Perdita’s interests, of course:

‘ _[Wish I had the silver moon to roll around my hand](https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=%27Wish+I+Had+A+Troubadour%27&view=detail&mid=C3776D832B5750A88B70C3776D832B5750A88B70&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCOSP%26ptag%3dN1117D060818AE20BDC3E2E%26form%3dCONMHP%26conlogo%3dCT3210127%26q%3d%2527Wish%2bI%2bHad%2bA%2bTroubadour%2527),_’ he sang.

‘ _Hang it as a pendant on a silver satin band._

_If I had the silver moon, I’d hang it round your neck,_

_And it would shine for you,_

_It would shine for you until you smiled._ ’

Gardas wasn’t a very good singer, but Paul caught onto what the tune was meant to be, and added another verse:

‘ _Wish I had a thunderstorm to dance across the skies,_

_Flashing pretty patterns like the sparkle in your eyes._

_If I had a thunderstorm I’d signal with a nod,_

_And it would flash for you,_

_It would flash for you until you smiled._ ’

Yes, that made sense, Gardas thought. He was frightened of thunderstorms – or at least, the human side of him was frightened of them, because they reminded him of old Lankin telling him when he was a boy that thunderstorms were sent by the gods to kill bad boys and girls who wouldn’t learn their catechism. But Paul and Beatrice found thunderstorms exciting, and Perdita picked up on their excitement, so Gardas did his best not to show that he was afraid. Of course, in Cars & Computers, it was possible to make tame lightning out of almost anything, and people used it to power all sorts of machines, from computers to boxes that kept food cold. It was a sneaky way of having magic in a fantasy world that was based on the idea of magic not existing.

Martin struck up with another verse:

‘ _Wish I had an ice-cream van to trundle round the streets,_

_Jingling pretty melodies of creamy frozen treats._

_If I had an ice-cream van, I’d buy ice-cream for you,_

_And you would lick at it,_

_You would lick at it until you smiled._ ’

Perdita eventually managed to fall into a fitful doze. She seemed to be tossed about by nightmares, and kept calling out, ‘ _Mustn’t cry!_ ’ and ‘ _I don’t want to be a monster!_ ’ Several times her nightmares made her twitch in her sleep, and wince as she jarred an injured limb, but nobody calling out reassurances could either wake her, or make her dream-world a friendlier place.

By the time evening came, all of the Bronze dragons who were able to fly had sworn their loyalty oaths to the new Sovereign in person, and Phoenix reported that the injured ones had promised their loyalty and would come as soon as they could. Tomorrow, it would be time to swear in the Brown dragons, and then the Blues and Blacks. When everyone had decided whether to swear loyalty to the new Sovereign or to leave Wyrms, they would hold the old Sovereign’s funeral.

Bellerophon dispatched some of his Bronzes to fetch meat for Martin, Obashu and Gardas (Maz caught a seagull for herself), and branches for the Green dragon and Corona. Maz even managed to find some blackberries for the humans, to make a change from endless meat. Paul nibbled a few politely. Princess at first grimaced in bewilderment at the sweet-sharp flavour, and then began to cry. ‘’Lackberries!’ she exclaimed, in Westron rather than Dragonese. ‘We eated these a long time ago, when I was little.’ She sounded even more like a little girl now than when she had been trying to sweet-talk Obashu earlier, but Gardas realised that this time, she wasn’t trying to sound cute. It was just that it was so long since she had spoken Westron that she could barely remember how.

‘There are lots of blackberries back home,’ Paul said. ‘And apples, too. Do you like apples?’

‘Only the outside,’ said Princess. ‘They’ve got toenails inside. And ’lackberry - blackberry bushes have ’tings, don’t they?’

‘Stings? No, brambles have thorns, not stings,’ said Paul. ‘Nettles, now, _they_ sting. But you can cook them. My mum makes bean and nettle stew sometimes. Or cheese and nettle pie. Do you like those?’

‘Are nettles like seaweed?’

‘Sort of – well, they’re green vegetables, anyway, but – well, they’re nettles. Hadn’t you ever come across nettles before?’

‘I remember them,’ said Princess. ‘They ’ting – sting – and blackberry bushes bite. But my mum cooked seaweed and fish, mostly, because we lived by the sea. And Obashu gave me seaweed and fish, too, only he didn’t cook them.’

‘ _What’s she saying?_ ’ asked Obashu, recognising his name.

‘ _Oh, just human talk,_ ’ said Princess.

‘ _Princess,_ ’ said Obashu awkwardly, ‘ _I – I’m sorry if I wronged you. I didn’t know you didn’t want to live with me. I didn’t know you were upset when I…_ ’

‘ _Killed my parents?_ ’ suggested Princess.

‘ _Yes. I just want to say – I didn’t mean to make you my prisoner. You’re welcome to go, and – you can have all of my hoard._ ’

‘ _Oh, very generous!_ ’ snapped Princess. ‘ _You do realise it isn’t yours to give, don’t you? What about all the humans and dwarves you stole it from when you sank their ships? Giving it back can’t bring back their lives, can it?_ ’

‘ _Maybe it can,_ ’ suggested Martin. ‘ _I remember – when I went into another world that’s like our fantasy stories, people there have fantasy stories about OUR world. And in their stories, some people – mostly priests, bards, and druids – can work spells that bring dead people back to life. Most of the spells involve diamonds, except a few that use rare oils instead. So – maybe the bards in another world are remembering a spell that really exists in our world, if we could find someone who could do it? We might be able to bring your parents back to life._ ’

‘ _And Martin’s parents!_ ’ added Gardas. ‘ _And Paul’s adoptive parents. I mean – if you’ve got any diamonds left over, and you don’t mind sharing them,_ ’ he added to Princess apologetically. ‘ _They are people I killed, and – I’ll be your slave for life, or your family’s slave for two hundred years or however long you choose, to pay for the diamonds. It’s the least I can do, to atone for…_ ’

‘ _No you don’t!_ ’ said Paul sharply. ‘ _You’re already atoning to my family, remember? We haven’t given you permission to sell yourself to anyone else._ ’

‘ _I don’t want a slave, anyway,_ ’ Princess pointed out. ‘ _But yes, you can have the diamonds. I never wanted all this – STUFF – anyway! All I wanted was to go home._ ’

‘ _Soon,_ ’ promised Maz. ‘ _As soon as we can get everyone healed, we’re all going home. Even if you and Martin can’t get your parents back straight away, we’ll help you find some sort of home in the human world, and the chance to go to school. It’ll be all right._ ’

Gardas dozed off, dreaming that there were enough diamonds to resurrect everyone he’d ever killed. He was woken at midnight by voices overhead:

‘ _You’re sure they can’t wake up?_ ’

‘ _YES! Gold and Bronze dragons fall asleep at sunset, and the Greys won’t wake till moonrise – that’s not till the small hours. And the others can’t even walk, except that little Gules were-dragon. Just get on with it, shall we?_ ’


	23. Chapter 23

Paul snapped awake as he heard Gardas’s voice, challenging: ‘ _Halt! Who goes there?_ ’

‘ _We’re here to deal with the metallics,_ ’ said a dragonish voice that Paul did not recognise. The moon had not yet risen, and Paul couldn’t see much by starlight, but he could make out a flapping shape – no, two of them, at least – overhead.

‘ _While they’re asleep?_ ’ sneered Obashu. ‘ _Oh, really BRAVE of you, Ogolin. What a surprise._ ’

‘ _Well, you’d know about courage, after being a wingless dragon’s lickspittle all these decades,_ ’ retorted the dragon called Ogolin. ‘ _Did the Sovereign know you’d been keeping a pet human in your cave?_ ’

‘ _Why do you think she brought me here and had her new favourite give me a beating?_ ’ sighed Obashu. ‘ _I’d thought the Grey might heal me, but no, she was too busy getting revenge on the old Sovereign for taking her mate, and never mind if she tarnished herself beyond redemption. Mind you, she’s able to walk, at least, so she and the Consort could have carried me over to the Green for healing, if they’d cared. But no, they’ve been spending the whole day taking loyalty oaths from the Bronzes, and playing with the new little Sovereign – who seems quite happy to have a stepmother who murdered her real mother, mind you. I hate to admit it, but I’ve realised you’re right, Comrade Ogolin. It’s not just the old Sovereign who was bad – it’s metallics generally. They don’t eat, they don’t have feelings even for their own family – they’re barely dragons at all._ ’

‘ _It took you all that time to work that out?_ ’ said Ogolin. ‘ _While you’ve been letting the old Sovereign and her caterpillar of a mate tell you what to do for the past hundred years?_ ’

‘ _You know it’s hard to think, with a Sovereign around,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _But I’ve been keeping the metallic population down – you know the Sovereign herself made me get rid of all her Grey daughters? And even her bleeding heart of a mate, didn’t dare tell me to disobey – not after I’d torn off his wings, anyway. Well, now’s the time I do with the new little Sovereign what I did with her sisters._ ’

‘ _And then? When all the Bronzes want revenge on you?_ ’ retorted another dragon. ‘ _Won’t you need some back-up then?_ ’

‘ _Really, Rhaelney, what do you think’s likely to happen?_ ’ snorted Obashu. ‘ _The Bronzes swore loyalty oaths to the new Sovereign, you know? They’re sworn to the slug and the eclipsed Grey only as long as those two are loyal to the Sovereign. Well, I’m crippled now – can’t fly, can’t swim, can’t walk – not that the last bit’s anything new, my legs have ached ever since the first beating the old Sovereign gave me, back when I was a hundred. But if you two between you could carry me over to the three-headed Green there, her left head’s a healer, she can sort me out, I can fly off with the new Sovereign and be back before moonrise, you can break my bones again afterwards. Next morning, alas, woe is me, the evil Grey, driven mad because she can no longer live on moonlight, devoured her little Gold stepdaughter while I was powerless to do anything about it. Result: the Bronzes kill the two Greys here, the rest of the Greys from Cideria fly in to avenge them, they wipe each other out in the fighting, and the island is free for normal dragons again._ ’

‘ _Good plan,_ ’ said Rhaelney. ‘ _Tell you what – I’ll come with you, just to make sure you actually do what you’ve said. Okay?_ ’

Paul wondered what Obashu – a dragon whom even the Sovereign had described as ‘ _not the brightest flame in the fire_ ’ was really playing at. Still, if he was loyal to the new Sovereign and Bellerophon, there was no point spoiling it by arguing, and if he wasn’t, there was nothing Paul could do at this stage.

‘ _If you must,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _It’s a bit of a trek, but – your decision. Now, are you going to help me out here or hover around talking till moonrise?_ ’

‘ _Oh, we’ll help you out, all right,_ ’ said Rhaelney. He and Ogolin swooped down, each grabbed some of Obashu’s back-spines in his mouth (Rhaelney at the base of the neck, and Ogolin at the base of the tail) and carried him over to the Green dragon. 

Hope blew healing fire over his battered body from his forepaws to his tail, and Obashu sighed with relief. ‘ _Thank you, jewel of three-headed dragons,_ ’ he said. ‘ _I’ll see you again very soon._ ’

‘ _You might – IF you don’t make any stupid decisions,_ ’ said Rhaelney. Before Paul knew what was happening, Rhaelney had turned and grabbed him in his jaws. ‘ _And ig you’re gery lucky, I won’t eat your ket hungang,_ ’ he added with his mouth full.

‘ _What? You’re putting Paul’s life on the line, depending on my good behaviour?_ ’ protested Obashu. ‘ _After all the years I’ve looked after him, since he was a little boy?_ ’

‘ _Dat’sh right. How elsh will I know I can trusht you?_ ’ demanded Rhaelney. His sharp teeth dug into Paul’s body as he tried to talk past him.

‘ _And how do I know I can trust YOU?_ ’ retorted Obashu. ‘ _You Browns are hardly better than the Bronzes, after all. I think we’d better have another Blue along, don’t you, Ogolin?_ ’

‘ _Dream on,_ ’ said Ogolin. ‘ _I’ve got work to do here. Any problems you’ve got with Rhaelney, you’ll have to sort out for yourself._ ’

Obashu seized hold of Aurelia and took off, the larger Rhaelney flapping after him and trying not to overtake him. Paul tried desperately to think. If Obashu really did take the new baby Sovereign to the Greys (which was presumably what he’d meant, and what he’d counted on Rhaelney and Ogolin not understanding), then Rhaelney would crunch up Paul with one snap of his jaws the moment he realised he had been tricked. Probably Obashu wouldn’t mind too much – which must be why he hadn’t told Rhaelney that he’d grabbed the wrong human.

If Paul shouted out, ‘ _You idiot! I’m not the one Obashu’s been keeping as a pet – that’s the girl!_ ’ – well, he just couldn’t, because then Rhaelney would come back and take Princess instead, and he couldn’t let that happen.

If Obashu was a traitor all along – no, untangle that thought – if Obashu was a traitor to Bellerophon and Aurelia, rather than to Rhaelney and Ogolin, he might kill Aurelia after all… well, no, he just wouldn’t. Paul wasn’t clear about how the bond between Obashu and Bellerophon worked, but Obashu seemed to feel that having eaten part of Bellerophon meant that he was Bellerophon’s own flesh and blood, like a son.

If Obashu landed among the Greys before Rhaelney saw what was happening – no, that was no good. If Rhaelney realised they were going anywhere near Cideria, not dropping Aurelia to her death over some jagged rock or in the depths of the sea, Rhaelney could swallow Paul (or some of him – or just drop him) and then turn on Obashu long before the Greys could offer assistance. Besides, Greys had a reputation for being gentle pacifists who would fight only as a last resort – would they consider saving one Blue dragon who had been a servant of the enemy, and one baby Gold dragon who was the child of their enemy, to be worth it?

His thoughts were interrupted by Rhaelney’s teeth pricking him in new places as they flew on.

‘ _All right,_ ’ said Rhaelney. ‘ _You’d getter ge sherioush agout taking de Shogereign shashely to Shideria._ ’

‘ _Of courshe,_ ’ said Obashu, also struggling with his mouth full of the sleeping Aurelia. ‘ _Gut I washn’t going to shay shat in front of Ogolin, wash I?_ ’

‘ _Well done twying to lure Ogolin away, too. Kity it didn’t work._ ’

‘ _I shought we ngight get shung truggle. De Green’sh recovered ngore dan she letsh on – Hoke’sh healing cowers, and walking. She healed de udders – Ngartin, Gardash, and de young Grey, Kerdita – earlier tonight. Dey’ll ge agle to coke wid Ogolin._ ’

Finally, the dragons were across the sea, and back in what Paul supposed must be Cideria, though he had never travelled this far to the north of his adopted country. They landed in what, as far as Paul could make out, seemed to be a deep valley, and set Paul and Aurelia down on the ground. It was mostly moist and grassy, but with lumps of rock sticking out in places, digging painfully into Paul’s back. He managed to sit upright to avoid the worst of them. At least it was only his limbs that were broken, rather than being completely paralysed like poor Martin, he thought. Or did a broken spine mean you couldn’t feel? Martin hadn’t complained, but perhaps it was just that he was more stoical than Paul. Frankly, most people were more stoical than Paul. Except that Perdita had seemed not so much stoical as despairing…

‘ _Noble Greys of Cideria!_ ’ called Obashu in a loud voice. ‘ _Great-hearted adopters of Luna, Diana, Cynthia and Selena! Kin of Corona, and of the Bronze Orpheus! We bring more unfortunate children, in need of your care and healing!_ ’

Paul’s eyes were growing accustomed to the night, and he was able to make out more of what was going on. He saw a dragon – bigger than Perdita in her dragon form, but still young by Grey standards, he thought – come forth to investigate. Presumably she had emerged from a cave in the steep walls of the valley

‘ _I knew it was you, Obashu!_ ’ she said. ‘ _You WERE the one who brought me here when I was a hatchling, weren’t you? And Di and Cynthia and Selena?_ ’

‘ _Yes, my lady Luna,_ ’ said Obashu, bowing.

‘ _Is this my new sister?_ ’

‘ _Yes, lady._ ’

‘ _Mum isn’t here at the moment. Auntie Chango’s looking after us. Wait…_ ’ Luna thought about this for a moment. ‘ _Do YOU know where my mum is?_ ’

‘ _Yes, lady._ ’

‘ _Is she still alive? Did she try to get to the island? Did you hurt her wings, like you did mine?_ ’

‘ _She is alive, and on the island. I haven’t harmed her, but – she’s suffering from tarnish. Neither she nor you will fly for another hundred years or more – not until your little sister here is old enough to heal you._ ’

‘ _Luna! What are you doing out there on your own?_ ’ came the querulous voice of an older dragon. ‘ _Don’t you have any sense even after what you’ve been through?_ ’ An adult Grey came rushing out, knocked Obashu over and pinned him to the ground. ‘ _YOU!_ ’ she shouted. ‘ _Wasn’t it enough for you to terrorise poor little Luna when she kept trying to get to Wyrms? Are you trying to conquer Cideria as well, now? WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT?_ ’

‘ _The Sovereign…_ ’ began Obashu breathlessly. More Greys had come running out of their caves and pinned Rhaelney to the ground, too. Paul couldn’t see the moon from where he was sitting – if it had risen at all, the walls of the valley hid it – but whether or not the Greys could fly yet, they were big and strong enough, and alert enough, to overpower the intruders before Obashu or Rhaelney had the chance to take off.

‘ _Oh, yes, you’re the Sovereign’s dragon, all the way along, aren’t you?_ ’ snapped Chango.

‘ _No. I am Consort Bellerophon’s worm,_ ’ said Obashu. 

Chango took no notice, but another of the dragons, the one who was holding Rhaelney down, said, ‘ _Bellerophon? Is he still alive?_ ’

‘ _For now, yes,_ ’ gasped Obashu. ‘ _But there are rebels trying to kill all the Bronzes – they’ll probably kill Corona, too, and a young Grey were-dragon. They’d be trying to kill Orpheus, too, if he was still on Wyrms. Rhaelney and I came here to warn you – anyone who’s a friend of Corona, anyone who has Bronze brothers or sons or friends, we need you to come and stop them. Come and make peace! That’s what Greys are supposed to be good at, isn’t it? Peace?_ ’

‘“ _Supposed to be” is the key phrase,_ ’ said an older dragon wryly: the second of the dragons who was holding Rhaelney down. They both seemed to be considerably older than Corona and Chango, Paul thought. They weren’t exactly tarnished, but they didn’t gleam in the starlight as brightly as Luna or Chango did. If they had been males, they would probably have had horns as curly as a ram’s. Being female, instead they had the longest, thickest straight horns Paul had ever seen. ‘ _We’re also supposed to be good at democracy, and reaching consensus through free discussion and argument. In reality – well, we argue, at any rate._ ’

‘ _Why don’t you stop arguing for once, and GO?_ ’ demanded Obashu. ‘ _Mahina, you’re Bellerophon’s MOTHER, for moon’s sake! And Huitaca is Corona’s mother! Why won’t the two of you stop prodding Rhaelney and go and save your children before it’s too late?_ ’

‘ _Because we don’t have any reason to believe you,_ ’ said one of the Greys wearily – presumably Mahina. ‘ _My son died decades ago, after he tried to slip away to see Corona one more time. The Sovereign would never have forgiven him for that. And if he’d been alive, he’d have found a way to escape. You’re twisty even for a Blue, Obashu. The only time we know you’re being honest is when you’re ripping wings off._ ’

‘ _But it’s true!_ ’ protested Paul. ‘ _The old Sovereign is dead – Corona killed her, which means Corona is tarnished and can’t get back. But she’s glad to be back with Bellerophon and his other children – he’s got two Bronze sons, and now a Gold daughter, as well as the Greys Obashu brought here. So they went to sleep for the night, and then some rebels came to attack, and Obashu and Rhaelney pretended to go along with them, and brought me and the new Gold here to keep us safe. I know Obashu’s done some bad things – plenty of dragons have. Even Corona has, now. But he’s telling the truth here._ ’

‘ _What’s he been doing to you?_ ’ asked the other old Grey, Corona’s mother Huitaca. ‘ _You’re injured._ ’

‘ _Oh, that wasn’t Obashu,_ ’ said Paul quickly. ‘ _That was – well, my group got into a fight, a couple of days ago, and we all took a battering. My father – he’s a Black were-dragon – managed to heal my friend Maz, the Gules were-dragon who came to visit earlier today. And then that three-headed Green dragon healed Orpheus – the Bronze who came here earlier today – and then she healed Obashu tonight._ ’

‘ _Oh dear, Orpheus!_ ’ sighed Huitaca. ‘ _Chia has been up all day trying to comfort him – trying to convince him that being able to see isn’t the end of the world, and that not having blinded himself sufficiently thoroughly in the first place isn’t a crime. Are all the Bronzes there as bad as that?_ ’

‘ _No. Most of them are much, much worse,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _Most of them have had a hundred years of being brainwashed by the Sovereign, remember. Bellerophon managed to resist because he was in love with Corona, even though he was too badly injured to leave the island, and Obashu managed to resist because he was loyal to Bellerophon. But the rest of the Bronzes – well, now that the old Sovereign’s dead, they just worship the new Sovereign Aurelia, Bellerophon’s daughter, but they’ve vowed to be loyal to Bellerophon and Corona, because they’ll be in charge until Aurelia grows up. And I think Aurelia will probably be a decent person, with Bellerophon and Corona to bring her up – I don’t know if she’ll go ahead with being queen, or abdicate and bring in democracy, or whether she’ll go halfway and be a sort of constitutional monarch who doesn’t boss people around, like the human king we’ve got. But they could all be dead by morning, if you don’t get a move on!_ ’

‘ _I think I believe him,_ ’ said Huitaca. ‘ _What about you?_ ’

‘ _It – might be true,_ ’ said Mahina, and Paul could see that she was struggling not to cry, because of how toxic Grey dragons’ tears were. ‘ _At least – I can’t not go. Just in case._ ’

‘ _How do you know it isn’t a trap?_ ’ retorted Chango. ‘ _Lure all the adult Greys to Wyrms, while they come and kill our children here._ ’

‘ _They’re not luring all of us,_ ’ said Huitaca. ‘ _At the most, we can take all adult Greys between a hundred and eighty and – uh – seven hundred and twenty who don’t have children to care for. But I’m only taking those who are willing to come._ ’

The valley had filled with dragons while they were talking, and now there was a chorus of voices: ‘ _I’m ready!_ ’ ‘ _Me, too!_ ’ ‘ _I’m seven hundred and thirty-two, but I’m as fit as any of you youngsters._ ’ ‘ _I’m nearly a hundred and eighty – I’m a hundred and sixty-eight._ ’

‘ _Thanks, but we need you strong, healthy, older and younger dragons to guard this valley, just in case,_ ’ said Huitaca. ‘ _No, not you – yes, you’re all right – all right, let’s be off._ ’

‘ _What about me?_ ’ protested Paul. ‘ _If you heal me, I can come with you._ ’

‘ _A battlefield is no place for children,_ ’ said Chango.

‘ _I’m not a child! I’m sixteen – that’s grown-up, for a human! And there’s a human girl there who’s my age, and she’s more injured than I am, and with no way of getting away! And my three-year-old sister and my dad and my friends are there! I’ve GOT to get back and help them!_ ’


	24. Chapter 24

Gardas watched wretchedly. The pain in his wings and legs had subsided for now, but he knew that it would be useless trying to move. Obashu was trying to get the Sovereign safely away, but he wouldn’t be able to keep both her and Paul safe, surely? And now there was no-one both able-bodied and awake here to protect the rest of the royal family – or to protect Perdita and Princess. 

He remembered being back at the Potions Farm, that time when old Lankin had tied him to a chair and made him watch while Lankin cut bits off Gardas’s friend Kira to use in potions. He still had nightmares about the sight of little Kira, six years old, with blood and tears streaming down what remained of her face, and nothing looking normal except her eyes. Gardas didn’t look at people’s eyes, much, but Kira’s had been a deep violet-blue, like no other eyes he’d ever seen, and he’d been as fascinated by them as she was by his yellow eyes with their horizontal slit-pupils like a goat’s.

Kira had been his friend, and he hadn’t been able to do anything while Lankin hurt her. He was useless, always…

As Obashu and the Brown dragon flapped off, carrying Aurelia and Paul with them, the new Blue, Ogolin, leapt at little Daedalus, as he slept snuggled up against his father. Without a moment’s thought, Gardas pounced on Ogolin’s neck, pressing the Blue’s head to the ground, and Martin, at the same moment, leapt on Ogolin’s tail to hold him back. The Green three-headed dragon crawled awkwardly forward, still dragging her right legs, and clambered onto Ogolin’s mid-section, across his wings, using all her body-weight to hold him down. ‘ _We healed them earlier tonight, while they were sleeping,_ ’ Hero said. ‘ _We just needed to rest before we did Obashu, too._ ’

‘ _And you pretended you couldn’t move, so Rhaelney would be happy to leave me to cope with you lot on my own,_ ’ said Ogolin. ‘ _Very slick. Well, it’s nice having a female snuggled against me, I must say._ ’

‘ _Dream on!_ ’ retorted Prue. 

‘ _We love someone else,_ ’ said Hope. 

‘ _ALL of us,_ ’ added Hero. ‘ _For once, we’ve managed to reach a consensus._ ’

‘ _I don’t get it,_ ’ said Ogolin.

‘ _What? Why we prefer someone else to you?_ ’ snorted Prue.

‘ _No. Why you’re defending the metallics, instead of siding with Rhaelney and me. What’s in it for you?_ ’

‘ _Obashu…_ ’ began Hope, but she was interrupted.

‘ _Corona is one of our best friends,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _She loves Bellerophon, and she’s willing to love his children – including little Sovereign Aurelia – for his sake. And plenty of the older Bronzes – the ones who went into exile with their Grey mates instead of staying to serve the old Sovereign – are friends of ours, too. Dragons in most countries don’t assume metallic dragons are the enemies of all other dragons. That’s something the old Sovereign introduced here, by setting up a regime that put Golds in charge, Bronzes second, and Greys nowhere._ ’

‘ _What you need to ask yourself,_ ’ added Prue, ‘ _is why Rhaelney would be against the Greys._ ’

‘ _Wh..?_ ’ began Ogolin, and then his voice died away. After a minute or two he shouted, ‘ _You’re lying! He’s with me! He hates all metallics!_ ’

‘ _He’s bound to want to find a mate,_ ’ Hero pointed out.

‘ _Greys wouldn’t look at him!_ ’ shouted Ogolin.‘ _Not if they can come back here and marry some shiny Bronze instead!_ ’

‘ _There are a lot of Greys, and they can’t all marry Bronzes,_ ’ Prue pointed out. ‘ _And it’s not as if a Green would choose a Brown for a mate. Females don’t choose males bigger than themselves._ ’

‘ _But if the Greens came back here as well, you might find a Green who likes YOU,_ ’ Hope added. ‘ _Then you’d be happy and wouldn’t need to spend all your time being angry._ ’

‘ _I don’t WANT to stop being angry!_ ’ shouted Ogolin. ‘ _Just because you lot have let yourself get tricked into being liege-sworn to yet another metallic tyrant…_ ’

‘ _We haven’t,_ ’ growled Gardas. ‘ _If we’d sworn Bellerophon’s oath, like the Bronzes, we’d have sworn not to kill any dragon. I haven’t promised that at all. So the only thing that’s stopping me from biting your head off is my patience. And you know what? I’ve never had much of that._ ’

‘ _YES!_ ’ shouted Shadow. ‘ _Can I kill him now?_ ’

‘ _No, not yet,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _Wait until Corona wakes up and let her decide._ ’

‘ _But she might say no,_ ’ grumbled Shadow.

‘ _That’s why we need to wait,_ ’ said Gardas.

‘ _If you say no, I’ll take over the body!_ ’ snapped Shadow. ‘ _It’s not fair, you haven’t let me be in charge for ages and ages._ ’

‘ _It’s not your turn,_ ’ said Gardas.

‘ _When will it be my turn?_ ’

‘ _When you’re grown-up._ ’

‘ _When will I be grown-up?_ ’

‘ _When we’re two hundred and four._ ’

‘ _How long is that?_ ’

Gardas was so tired from simultaneously holding the struggling Ogolin down and restraining Shadow from attacking that it took him a few moments to work out the answer. ‘ _Uh – a hundred and seventy-one years._ ’

‘ _It’s not fair! How come you’re allowed to be a grown-up now, if I can’t?_ ’

‘ _Because I’m human, and humans grow up faster than dragons._ ’

‘ _You’re not scaring me,_ ’ muttered Ogolin. ‘ _You’re not fooling anyone with this split-personality, good-cop bad-cop act, you know._ ’

 _I’m scaring myself_ , Gardas thought, but he managed not to say it out loud.

‘ _Gardas is scared of me!_ ’ crowed Shadow out loud. ‘ _I’m a dragonet and he’s grown-up, but HE’S scared of ME!_ ’

‘ _Who’s “me”?_ ’ asked Perdita, alarmed. Gardas hadn’t even realised she was awake. The moon hadn’t risen yet, and Corona seemed to be still asleep.

‘ _I’M Shadow!_ ’ said Shadow. ‘ _I’m who Gardas is when he isn’t being a human! I’m not a nice boy!_ ’

‘ _Is Shadow the one who beat Obashu and Princess up, and broke Martin’s neck and Maz’s wings?_ ’ asked Hero.

‘ _And bit me off!_ ’ added Prue.

‘ _Yes,_ ’ said Shadow smugly. ‘ _It was fun._ ’

Perdita gave a stifled whimper – the sound of a human child, not a dragon. Turning, Gardas could see that she was in human form.

‘ _Perdita!_ ’ he said urgently. ‘ _Go back to dragon form!_ ’

‘No!’ said Perdita, as defiantly as she could when she had the ends of broken ribs pressing into her lungs. ‘I don’t want to be a dragon any more! Dragons are horrible! I want to go home! I don’t want to be horrible!’

Maz took human form, too, crouching beside the younger girl. ‘Not all dragons are horrible,’ she said. ‘Being a dragon doesn’t make you horrible. I’m not, when I’m a dragon, am I? Neither’s Martin.’

‘I am,’ said Perdita. ‘I hurt Paul.’

‘Yes, but… you’re not horrible most of the time,’ said Maz. ‘Neither’s Gardas, is he? Even when he’s in dragon form, he’s mostly nice.’

Corona was stirring now. ‘ _Are you all right?_ ’ she asked.

‘ _Not quite,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _We caught an intruder with a grudge against metallics, and we’ve been holding him down while you slept. I’ve healed Martin, Obashu and Gardas, so Martin and Gardas have been holding the intruder down while Obashu took young Aurelia to a safe place. But if you could take over my place for a while, some people still need healing._ ’

Corona placed her paws gently but firmly on Ogolin’s midsection, taking care not to squash him, as she was so much bigger than he was. The Green dragon plodded round to breathe healing fire over the small, battered forms of Princess and Perdita.

‘ _Uh – would you mind ordering this Black dragon who’s sitting on my head not to kill me?_ ’ Ogolin asked. ‘ _Both of him._ ’

‘ _Oh, I can’t give him orders!_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _We Greys don’t believe in hierarchy and compulsion. Besides, it’s not as if I’m Sovereign or Regent, and Gardas isn’t a subject of the Sovereign anyway. But, Gardas, please will you not kill this Blue dragon – what’s your name, by the way?_ ’

‘ _Ogolin._ ’

‘ _Gardas, please will you not kill Ogolin?_ ’

‘ _I won’t if he doesn’t harm you or your family, or my friends,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _Shadow, do you promise not to kill him?_ ’

‘ _I promise,_ ’ muttered Shadow sulkily.

‘ _So if you don’t want to give orders, what are you here for?_ ’ demanded Ogolin. ‘ _Just to be the power behind the throne? Grounded queen on a crag, with your grounded mate, but monarch of all you survey, thanks to your Bronze minions?_ ’

‘ _I can’t make you change your mind, if that’s what you’re determined to believe,_ ’ said Corona wearily. ‘ _If I tell you I came because I wanted to help the people – dragons, were-dragons and humans – who’d been injured on the old Sovereign’s orders, and that I killed the old Sovereign and grounded myself because I was so angry at what had happened to Bellerophon, I can’t make you believe me. But tell me – you look old enough to remember before the Greys were expelled. Were most Greys you knew like that?_ ’

‘ _You’re all metallics,_ ’ grumbled Ogolin.

‘ _That wasn’t what I asked._ ’

‘ _I didn’t know any Greys very well,_ ’ said Ogolin. ‘ _You high-and-mighty, fly-in-the-moonlight types didn’t pay much attention to dragons like me who lived in the sea and ate fish._ ’

‘ _Then I’m sorry if we made you feel that we looked down on you,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _Now, obviously, Bellerophon and I can’t fly out to the sea now to visit you, but since you’re visiting us, maybe you could tell me some of the things you don’t like about Greys? And when Bellerophon wakes up, you could tell him what you don’t like about Bronzes._ ’

‘ _What sort of opinion do you expect to hear from a prisoner?_ ’ growled Ogolin.

‘ _That’s a good point,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _Gardas, Martin, could you release Ogolin, please? I’m here to guard Bellerophon and the children now. Ogolin, the visiting dragons here aren’t sworn to anyone. If they want to defend me, I expect they will, and if they want to defend you, I’m sure they’ll do that, too. But in the meantime, I’d prefer it if everyone sits by and gives Ogolin and me a chance to talk._ ’

So everyone sat back. Perdita, still in human form, was overcome by sleepiness at last, and Maz stayed in human form as well, in order to cuddle the younger girl on her lap. In the moonlight, Gardas could make out a red, cross-shaped birthmark on Maz’s back, like a soaring dragon with wings outspread. Princess was still fast asleep. But Gardas, Martin, and the three-headed Green crouched close by, listening as a disaffected Blue and a reluctantly ennobled Grey discussed politics.

Gardas thought Shadow might have fallen asleep, too, possibly bored to sleep by all this grown-up talk. But nevertheless, he, Gardas, had to stay awake, in case Shadow leapt up to claim command the moment Gardas let his concentration lapse.


	25. Chapter 25

Chango, Corona’s sister, waited until the army of Greys had taken off, led by Corona’s mother Huitaca, and Bellerophon’s mother Mahina. Then she bent her head and breathed blue fire over Paul’s body, healing him. It felt warm and deliciously tingly, much pleasanter than the times when Gardas’s blood had healed him. Paul remembered how Perdita, even when she had been a tiny baby and too young to shape-shift, let alone breathe healing fire, had been able to soothe his pain just by burping on his burnt arm. But it had been Gardas who had actually restored the withered and useless arm to normal – which was only fair, when he had been the one who had burnt Paul in the first place.

Who was looking after Perdita now? She was injured and helpless, along with Gardas and everyone else. All right, she’d hurt him, but that wasn’t her fault. She was a lovely child normally, except when the Sovereign was messing with her mind.

That was true of Gardas, too, come to think of it. Or at least, he wanted to be a good person, but it was just that so many people had messed with his mind for so long – the Sovereign, and Azalar, and that horrible man who ran the potions farm where Gardas had lived until he was eleven – that he had been left permanently weird. Apparently, nobody – not even Xanthus who was supposed to be a mind-healer, or Beatrice who was Gardas’s best friend, or Perdita who loved and trusted him – could sort him out. If baby Aurelia grew up to have healing powers that could regrow missing wings or eyes, would she have enough magic to help Gardas one day? If so, it would be a hundred years away. Paul would be dead by then, and Gardas might be doing – anything.

Would Gardas even survive tonight? He might not actually get killed, if Ogolin was only on a crusade against metallics. But if he had to watch helplessly while Ogolin killed Perdita, what would that do to him? It would be bad enough for the rest of the family, but Gardas loved Perdita more than anyone in the world – probably more than he loved Paul, his own son. After all, knowing that Perdita wasn’t his own child meant that he didn’t have to feel guilty about fathering her – or about hurting her, or any of the other things Gardas was guilty of doing to Paul and to so many other people.

Normally, Paul would have felt exasperated with Gardas’s tangled mixture of madness and guilt, hidden under an armoured shell of pretending to be a responsible, practical grown-up. But now, he just wished he could hug Gardas and tell him that he forgave him everything.

And he couldn’t, because Gardas was stranded on Wyrms and Paul was stranded here, near the coast of Cideria.

Luna, the young Grey, prodded at him with your snout. ‘ _Can we play, now?_ ’ she asked. ‘ _You’re all stinky,_ ’ she added.

‘ _I haven’t had much chance to have a wash lately,_ ’ Paul pointed out. ‘ _Is there a stream or anything nearby?_ ’

‘ _Of course, silly! Come on, you can ride on my back._ ’

Luna was considerably bigger than Gardas, even though she was so young. She lay down while Paul scrambled onto her back, then got up and started running before he had managed to settle into a comfortable position. He clung desperately to her back-spines.

She flapped as though she was trying to take off, despite having only one and a half wings. Sometimes, when she ran fast enough and then jumped, she actually did seem to be flying for a few moments. Abruptly, she scrambled up the side of the valley, onto a rock ledge about halfway up, and then leapt off and flapped as hard as possible, before Paul could even catch the breath to shout, ‘ _Be careful!_ ’ She managed to make her way down to the valley in something between a flight, a jump, and a controlled fall, landing abruptly with a jolt that jarred through her body and almost shook Paul from his seat.

‘ _What are you doing?_ ’ Paul asked shakily, when he was calm enough to remember how to speak Dragonese.

‘ _Practising flying._ ’

‘ _But you can’t fly,_ ’ Paul pointed out. He didn’t want to crush her dreams, but surely that was better than letting her crush her entire body?

‘ _That’s why I need to practise,_ ’ said Luna. ‘ _One of my wings is shorter than the other, so I need to flap it twice as hard. And I need to practise now, while I’m still quite small, because if I wait until I’m a grown-up, I’ll be too heavy. Only the moon’s waning now, so it’s harder to fly. I managed to fly all the way from our cave to Granny Huitaca’s, when it was full moon._ ’

She stopped by a spring where Paul climbed down, stripped, and scrubbed himself and his trousers as thoroughly as he could. Putting his wet clothes back on wasn’t pleasant, but at least they were clean. ‘ _Can you breathe fire yet?_ ’ he asked. ‘ _Not healing fire, but just to keep warm and dry my clothes?_ ’

‘ _Not yet,_ ’ said Luna. ‘ _We need to go to Auntie Chango._ ’

They returned, to find Chango supervising Luna’s little sisters, Diana, Cynthia, Selena, and the still sleeping Aurelia, with the help of another adult Grey, and two young Greys rather bigger than Luna, one of whom had the beginnings of horns growing.

‘ _Has Orpheus settled down now?_ ’ Chango asked.

‘ _Yes, in the end,_ ’ said the other adult.‘ _Cried himself to sleep, but he’s sleeping peacefully now._ ’

‘ _Hello, Chia,_ ’ said Luna to the adult, and then, ‘ _Hello, Selardi; hello, Gleti._ ’

‘ _Mum, why’s Orpheus being so weird?_ ’ asked the younger of Chia’s children.

‘ _Shut up, Gleti,_ ’ said the one with slight horn-nubs. ‘ _Orpheus has ALWAYS been weird._ ’

‘ _He’s weirder now,_ ’ said Gleti.

‘ _You’re not going to let him go back to that terrible place, are you?_ ’ asked Chango.

‘ _I don’t think I can stop him,_ ’ said Chia.‘ _He might be willing to stay here now that he knows you’ve got Aurelia, I suppose. He’s sworn some sort of oath to love, honour and obey her and protect her with his life._ ’

‘ _WHAT?_ ’ exclaimed Chango, horrified.‘ _He’s a hundred and thirty-two! Corona wouldn’t let dragons that young swear loyalty oaths, surely?_ ’

‘ _He says if he was old enough to swear to the old Sovereign and to blind himself when he was a hundred and twenty, he’s old enough to swear to the new one now._ ’

‘ _He said the Lord Regent sent him to tell us to go over to Wyrms and help the dragons there,_ ’ said Chia’s elder daughter – presumably Selardi. ‘ _He said he wasn’t allowed to come back until the Greys agreed to go there. So – well, lots of Greys HAVE gone over to help, haven’t they? But if we won’t go, his mother and his sisters, does he have to stay with us, or not?_ ’

‘ _I don’t know,_ ’ said Chia. ‘ _But I do know your brother won’t be happy until he can return to Wyrms, and I won’t be happy if I can’t live in the same country as him, and I won’t be happy if he’s unhappy. So I think, once things have settled down a bit, it’s best if we all go over there._ ’

‘ _I’m not swearing to obey Aurelia!_ ’ said Selardi. ‘ _She doesn’t know anything yet – she can’t even say anything except “Mummy!” So if we vowed to obey her, really we’d just be promising to do whatever her Regent says. And then, when she does start to talk, if she told us to do something stupid, we’d have to do it. And if she grows up with people having to do everything she says, she’ll probably grow into someone just as horrible as the old Sovereign._ ’

‘ _No, I couldn’t swear that, either,_ ’ said Chia. ‘ _I didn’t think I’d brought Orpheus up to think like that, either, but – maybe it’s just part of being a Bronze. Maybe it’s something about the way Bronzes think._ ’

‘ _Or AVOID thinking,_ ’ muttered Selardi.

‘ _So if we Greys, and maybe the Greens, are going to move back to Wyrms, maybe we should make different vows?_ ’ suggested Chia. ‘ _We can swear to love Aurelia, and do our best to bring her up to be a good dragon, can’t we? We can certainly swear to respect all dragons, to heal all who are injured, to protect orphans, and never to harm any creature._ ’

‘ _But we’d do all that anyway!_ ’ pointed out Gleti. ‘ _Why do we need to swear it to Aurelia and to some Bronze regent?_ ’

‘ _We don’t need to, for our own sake,_ ’ said Chia.‘ _But it might make the male dragons on Wyrms feel safer if they knew we’d sworn to it. Most of the younger ones aren’t used to Greys, and we don’t want them thinking all females are like the old Sovereign._ ’

‘ _Well, if grown dragons want to, they can, but we can’t let dragonets swear lifelong oaths,_ ’ complained Chango. ‘ _I don’t think anyone under a hundred and eighty should be swearing fealty. Two hundred and four, for preference, the same as for choosing a mate._ ’

‘ _Why?_ ’ retorted Selardi. ‘ _We’re not hatchlings! We’re old enough to understand what we’re promising! I’m a hundred and twenty, but I’m much more mature than Orpheus is. I think the age for swearing should be a hundred and twenty._ ’

‘ _Why not a hundred and eight?_ ’ retorted Gleti. ‘ _If we’re old enough to breathe fire, we’re old enough to promise to use it to help people._ ’

‘ _Why not seventy-two?_ ’ put in Luna.

‘ _Because you’re too little to be responsible,_ ’ said Gleti firmly.

‘ _I can swear!_ ’ said Luna’s sister Diana. ‘ _Poo!_ ’

‘ _That’s not quite what we’re talking about,_ ’ Chango explained gently.

Diana ignored her, singing, ‘ _Poo, poo! That’s what Greens do! They just eat leaves, and it all runs straight through! And when you are nesting, in caves you’ll be resting, and what you’re digesting will all turn to poo!_ ’

Inevitable, Paul thought. Even human children – or children who were human most of the time, like Perdita – thought that doing a wee or a poo was funny. For Grey dragons who lived on moonlight most of the time, and didn’t need to eat and excrete except when they were confined to their caves for the purposes of hatching eggs, it must take decades longer for the novelty to wear off.

He was starting to feel more relaxed, spending the night with the Greys as they played or argued. Somehow, just being around them made him feel – as no dragon he had known before had made him feel – that everything would be all right.

All the same, he didn’t realise how anxious he had still been until, close to dawn, he saw a convoy of assorted dragons coming in to land. Gardas, Martin, and Obashu, each carrying two heavy boxes (one grasped between the forepaws, one by the hind paws) which Paul realised must have been the containers that Obashu’s treasure hoard came in. In Obashu’s cave, they had been pushed into the shadows, and he hadn’t paid much attention to them.

Princess was sitting on Martin’s back, with Perdita, in human form, cuddled in her lap. Perdita was wrapped in Maz’s dress – after all, both the tunic she had been wearing, and Martin’s trousers, must have been torn to shreds when she and Martin burst into dragon form in the cave. Maz was in dragon form, flapping urgently to keep up with Martin’s big, strong wing-strokes.

‘ _What’s going on?_ ’ Paul asked. ‘ _Who won?_ ’

‘ _We need to get back to the human world,_ ’ said Gardas, landing and setting down his boxes so that Paul could climb on his back. ‘ _I’ll explain on the way._ ’

**Author's note: Diana's song goes to the tune of[The Hippopotamus Song](https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=flanders+and+swann+hippopotamus+song&view=detail&mid=F192B99DC67AE2EC68DAF192B99DC67AE2EC68DA&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCBHS%26ptag%3dN1117D060818A9DFA1A1FF2%26form%3dCONMHP%26conlogo%3dCT3210127%26q%3dflanders%2band%2bswann%2bhippopotamus%2bsong) by Michael Flanders and Donald Swann. It's well worth worth looking up - this video even teaches you how to sing the chorus in Russian.**


	26. Chapter 26

Eventually, Ogolin seemed satisfied with his conversation with Corona, and flew off, announcing that he’d be back in the morning to talk to Bellerophon in person.

‘ _Do you trust him?_ ’ Gardas asked Corona. ‘ _He might be rounding up reinforcements._ ’

‘ _I don’t think so, but he might,_ ’ Corona admitted. ‘ _But if I’m going to win the trust of all the dragons on this island, I’ll have to be willing to talk to them. Otherwise, what happens the next time it’s night and the moon hasn’t yet risen?_ ’

‘ _You’ve got Obashu and us,_ ’ said Hero.

‘ _You and Obashu seem to be getting on quite well,_ ’ said Corona.

‘ _He’s nice,_ ’ said Hope. ‘ _I always TOLD you he was a nice dragon pretending to be not nice, didn’t I?_ ’ she added defiantly to her sister heads. ‘ _And I was right, wasn’t I?_ ’

‘ _He’s a nutcase,_ ’ said Prue. ‘ _He needs me to keep an eye on him in case he goes off and does something crazy again._ ’

‘ _He’s quite young,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _He can’t be more than – oh, two hundred and sixteen, maybe?_ ’

‘ _I think he’s two hundred and four,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _Maybe you should ask him when he comes back._ ’

‘ _Well, it’s not as if we’re going to make a decision straight away,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _We need at least a dozen years to get to know him properly._ ’

‘ _At least twenty-four,_ ’ said Prue.

Gardas wondered if he might have a chance. In twelve years, he, Gardas, would be forty-five, but he was physically already an adult dragon – and the human side of his personality was mentally an adult, too. Twelve years would be a long time to wait to find a mate, but if he could make regular trips over to Wyrms, then maybe…

‘ _Do you think I’m nice?_ ’ he asked.

The three heads looked at each other. Eventually Hero said, ‘ _You’re – very sweet. But – well, one of your personalities is a thirty-three-year-old dragonet, and the other isn’t even a dragon._ ’

‘ _And Shadow isn’t even a nice dragonet,_ ’ added Gardas sadly.

‘ _He’s just young, and in a grown-up body before he can handle it,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _But – well, we’re going to have three relationships to keep going as it is, between the three of us and Obashu. If we could choose you as a mate – if that was even legal – we’d have six relationships to disentangle._ ’

‘ _And Greens usually prefer Blues,_ ’ said Gardas.

‘ _It depends,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _It’s not as if we’d choose, say, Ogolin over you. But Obashu – well, we need more time to find out who he is when he’s not pretending to be a villain. He needs more time to find that out himself, I think._ ’

‘ _What I don’t understand,_ ’ said Martin, ‘ _is who Gules dragons choose as mates, if females always choose a male smaller than themselves?_ ’

‘That’s simple,’ said Maz, speaking Westron as she was still in human form. ‘We don’t. We’re sterile. It’s what makes us so much more convenient pets than cats or dogs or ferrets,’ she added bitterly.

‘ _Well, ordinary Gules dragons aren’t much brighter than dogs,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _You’re different – just because you take the form of a Gules dragon doesn’t mean you’re not a normal, intelligent sixteen-year-old girl…_ ’

‘I’m twenty-four,’ said Maz. ‘My real name is Myranstrasza. My mother bought me from Wendy Thra’s hatchery in Woadhill as a familiar, just before she went off to the wizarding university in Lindmere. I lived with her in her room while she studied, and sat on her shoulder when she went on dates with my father. They thought I seemed to be a bit more intelligent than most Gules dragons, but – well, most people think their pets are exceptional, and wizards’ familiars often seem to pick up a lot from their owners. It wasn’t until I was six years old – when my brother Will was born – that I took human form for the first time, as a baby. My parents were very good about it – they let me be a human when I wanted, treated Will and me as twins and fed us side by side – but I kept getting frustrated with being a human baby and switching back into dragon form, so I didn’t grow as fast as a normal human would. By the time I decided to be a human most of the time, Will was four and I was the size of a two-year-old, so they let me be his younger sister. I caught up on being human enough to pass for normal by the time I started school, and I’ve managed to go on faking it since then.’

‘ _So you’ve got an age that isn’t your real age, too,_ ’ said Martin wonderingly. ‘ _And you don’t have birth parents – at least, you don’t know who they are._ ’

‘No,’ said Maz. ‘And they wouldn’t care. They’re probably a Green and a Blue, or maybe a Green and a Black, who never wanted a “defective” Gules daughter anyway, and handed me over to Wendy Thra’s petshop. For all I know, Wendy could be my birth mother herself. What matters is that my real parents are the ones who let me decide in my own time what species I wanted to be, and when I decided to be a human, they taught me how to be one.’

‘ _I hadn’t heard of were-dragons being born to dragons,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _But then, the school in the Walled City didn’t teach us much even about normal dragons._ ’

‘Well, I’m studying Dragon Studies in Cideria, and our textbook just has an appendix on were-dragons, and even then it only talks about humans being able to take dragon form,’ said Maz.

‘ _It needs more research,_ ’ began Martin, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Rhaelney, Obashu, and an army of Grey dragons.

‘ _Corona, love, are you all right?_ ’ called the leader. ‘ _Where are the rebels? What did they do to you?_ ’

‘ _Oh, hello, mum,_ ’ said Corona. ‘ _No, it’s fine now – there was one rather upset Blue, but my friends here held him down until he’d calmed down, and then we talked for a while and then he went off to get some rest. Hello, Mahina, it’s good to see you, too. I expect Bel will…_ ’

But then Corona in turn was interrupted, as the two leading Greys and Obashu landed. Rhaelney and the remainder of the Greys dispersed across the island, but the sound of the new arrivals startled Perdita, who woke, shouting desperately, ‘Beatrice! Auric! Gardas!’

‘ _It’s all right, I’m here,_ ’ said Gardas.

‘Not you!’ wailed Perdita, ‘Not dragon Gardas! Want man Gardas!’

‘ _So do I,_ ’ Gardas admitted.

Maz held her hand against the younger girl’s forehead. ‘ _Could you excuse me, please?_ ’ she said in Dragonese to the two older Greys who had just landed. ‘ _My friend here isn’t feeling very well. Could you possibly heal her?_ ’

One of the Greys – Corona’s mother, Gardas thought – sniffed at Perdita, who screamed in terror. ‘ _There’s nothing physically wrong with her,_ ’ the older dragon said. ‘ _She’s just very homesick, lonely and frightened._ ’

‘ _We’ve got to get her home,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _And Paul – is he all right?_ ’ he added abruptly to Obashu, realising he had been so distracted by Perdita that he had almost forgotten Paul’s problems. Really, what sort of man – dragon – whatever, was he to forget to worry about both children?

‘ _The other Greys are keeping him safe, and I’m sure they’ve healed his injuries by now, unless they had to leave him with a broken leg to stop him running off,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _Where is home for you, anyway?_ ’

That was a good question, Gardas realised. Going back to their home village, while he was still a dragon and Perdita’s other two adoptive parents weren’t around, wasn’t going to soothe her much. ‘ _Home is where Beatrice and Auric are,_ ’ he said. ‘ _And at the moment, they’re in the Downsland, distributing aid to try and repair some of the damage I caused there._ ’

‘ _Would treasure help?_ ’ asked Princess. ‘ _Things like gold, silver, diamonds and rubies?_ ’

‘ _Can you afford to give it away?_ ’ asked Maz, speaking Dragonese because Princess was more confident in that language. ‘ _What are you going to live on?_ ’

‘ _I’ll manage,_ ’ said Princess vaguely. ‘ _Most people don’t have a cave full of jewels, and they survive._ ’

‘ _Weren’t you going to use the diamonds to resurrect your parents?_ ’ Martin reminded her.

‘ _If it’s possible to do that,_ ’ said Princess. ‘ _But I don’t know if it works in real life, or how many diamonds it takes. I might be able to resurrect my parents, and yours, and Paul’s adoptive parents, and still have some treasure left over. If you still mean it about giving it to me?_ ’ she added to Obashu.

‘ _Yes, of course,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _I’ll even carry it for you._ ’

‘ _Are you insane?_ ’ snapped Prue. ‘ _Sorry, silly question – of course you are. You went to the Downs a hundred years ago and killed a lot of druids, and now you’re going back there, carrying a treasure chest so that you can’t fly away quickly. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE PLAYING AT?_ ’

‘ _I don’t think the humans will attack us if they can see we’re letting humans ride us,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _If Paul and Perdita ride me…_ ’

‘No!’ protested Perdita.

‘ _Wouldn’t it be better if Perdita took dragon form?_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _Then she could help us carry some of the boxes._ ’

‘NO!’ screamed Perdita. ‘I don’t want to be a dragon! I hate being a dragon!’

‘ _What’s she saying?_ ’ asked Obashu.

‘ _She says – she doesn’t want to do that now,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _It’s a long way for a young dragon to fly, and she’d have to stop flying when the moon sets. As a human, she’d be no weight riding on someone’s back. If she doesn’t want to ride me, maybe she could ride…_ ’ he considered. The Green dragon didn’t look recovered enough for a long flight either, and he certainly wouldn’t want to entrust a passenger to her. Obashu was the wrong shape for a human to ride on, with a long, continuous fin along his back instead of individual spikes that a human could sit in between. Maz was tiny in dragon form, and Perdita didn’t trust Gardas at the moment, which, considering the way he’d been behaving lately, was hardly surprising. ‘ _Martin, would you mind if Perdita rode on you?_ ’ he asked. ‘ _Maybe Princess could ride you as well, and hold Perdita in her lap?_ ’

‘ _Of course,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _What about you, Maz? Do you want a lift?_ ’

‘ _No, I’m happy to fly,_ ’ said Maz.

‘ _Can we go, too?_ ’ Hope asked. ‘ _We can fly. We flew here from Cideria when I’d only been recovered one day – why can’t we fly to the Downsland, now that Prue’s had a day to recover?_ ’

‘ _Because it’s too far and we’re both too weak,_ ’ retorted Prue.

‘ _I think we need to practise some short flights, first,_ ’ said Hero. ‘ _Maybe to that hillock over there. Obashu, would you mind coming with us, just in case we get into difficulties?_ ’

‘ _I would be honoured,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _Could you lot make a start on packing the treasure from my cave, and bringing the boxes up here?_ ’ he called, waving a wing at Martin and Gardas. ‘ _Princess can show you where the boxes and the keys are – remember, Princess, it’s yours to do what you like with. I’ll come and pick up some of the heavy items when you’re ready to take off._ ’


	27. Chapter 27

Paul sat on Gardas’s back, at the end of a line of dragons. Martin was leading, with the girls: Princess and Perdita on his back, and Maz flapping along beside him, looking tinier than ever compared to Martin’s long, strong brown wings. Obashu came next, and then Gardas, struggling to prove he was as strong as the larger dragons by carrying a heavy treasure chest from each pair of feet, as well as Paul on his back.

When the dragons had touched down in the Greys’ valley, Perdita had run forward to hug Paul, now that they were both well and uninjured once more. He had tried to introduce her to some of the Grey dragonets he had been playing with, but she had shrunk back from them and burst into tears. And then, when Paul had suggested that she might want to sit on his lap and ride with him on Gardas’s back, she had started screaming uncontrollably.

Gardas had backed away uncomfortably, and suggested to Paul, ‘ _You’d better sit with her on Martin._ ’

Paul had been tempted to agree, until he realised how deeply wretched Gardas looked. His head was hanging low, his ears and wings were drooping, and his horns looked as if they would have drooped too, if they could. ‘Perdita, I’m going to ride on Gardas,’ he said firmly in Westron, patting the dragon on his scaly black shoulder. ‘Because he’s my dragon, and because he’s my father, and because he’s my friend. I know he’s scary sometimes, but he’s good when I’m with him – well, mostly, anyway. If you don’t want to sit with me on Gardas, you can sit with Princess on Martin, but I’m not leaving Gardas on his own again.’

He hoped Maz wouldn’t think this was speciesist and patronising, but she didn’t complain. After all, she now knew what Gardas was capable of.

Martin was too far ahead for Paul to hear what the girls were talking about, so he and Gardas chatted to Obashu instead, as they flew.

‘ _Maybe there’ll be enough diamonds to bring Perdita’s real parents back, too,_ ’ Gardas said. ‘ _Maybe I killed them, as well._ ’

‘ _You ARE her real parents – you and Beatrice and Auric,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _I don’t think her birth parents are dead. I remember that horrible note in her basket. Her birth parents just didn’t want her, so they were trying to trick you into looking after her. But you’re her real parents, because you all love her – and Bara and Sammaron were my real parents, and so are you and Beatrice and Auric._ ’

‘ _Maz is adopted, too,_ ’ said Gardas. ‘ _Did you know that? She hatched from a dragon egg, and her mother bought her as a pet, and then adopted her when she decided she wanted to be human._ ’

‘ _Is EVERYONE here an orphan?_ ’ said Paul, rolling his eyes. ‘ _What about you, Obashu? Are your parents still alive?_ ’

‘ _I don’t know my father,_ ’ said Obashu. ‘ _My mother was killed by a knight when I was eighty. I expect my father was a Blue like me and didn’t want to live in the forest with my mother, and she couldn’t live in the sea with him. Clover and I aren’t going to do it like that. We’re going to go for long flights up and down the coastline until we find somewhere we want to live, where there’s a forest near the sea. I hope we can find somewhere on the coast of Wyrms, but if Clover doesn’t like it there, I’ll ask Bellerophon to let me move to Cideria. I’m going to be there for my dragonets._ ’

‘ _CLOVER?!_ ’ exclaimed Paul in astonishment. ‘ _Is that her real name?_ ’

‘ _It is now. They chose it between the three of them, last night. It’s a sort of herb._ ’

‘ _I know it’s a herb,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _It’s just – it’s the sort of name you’d give a cow or something, not a dragon…_ ’

‘ _It’s her choice,_ ’ said Gardas sharply, in tones that made it clear that the subject was closed.

They flew on for a little longer, until Martin dropped to the ground, on a patch of hilly moorland. The other dragons hurriedly found places to land nearby.

‘What’s wrong?’ Paul asked.

‘I need a wee,’ Perdita explained. ‘Princess did a wee in her dress,’ she added.

‘Most grown-ups don’t like it if you talk about things like that in public,’ Paul explained quietly. ‘I expect it was just an accident.’

‘ _Why does it even matter?_ ’ demanded Princess, in Dragonese. ‘ _We did it on the island, and nobody minded then._ ’

‘ _I minded,_ ’ said Paul, switching back to Dragonese to make things easier for Princess. ‘ _But we didn’t have any choice then, did we? We were too badly injured to do anything about it. But what do you think people are going to say if you do that at school?_ ’

‘ _Well, what else am I supposed to do?_ ’ demanded Princess indignantly. ‘ _If I wasn’t WEARING this stupid dress, it wouldn’t matter. I hardly ever wore it, back home in the cave, because it just got in the way when I was climbing or swimming. It’s just more of the stuff Obashu got me because he thought girls are supposed to like things like that! As if a DRAGON knows anything about what humans like wearing!_ ’

‘ _Well, most humans do wear clothes,_ ’ Maz pointed out gently. ‘ _And they don’t want to get them wet or dirty. So what you do is say, “Can you excuse me for a moment?” and then go into the woodland – well, behind a gorse bush or something,” she amended this, as there were only shrubs and a few isolated trees up here – “and lift your dress up out of the way. Or in a place where there are other people around, there’d be an outhouse at the bottom of the garden, so you’ve got some privacy there, or you might have a pot under your bed, if it’s a cold winter night and you don’t feel like putting your boots back on and going out to the outhouse. Didn’t you have those when you lived with your human parents, before?_ ’

‘ _I don’t need YOU to teach me how to be a human!_ ’ snapped Princess. ‘ _I AM a human!_ ’

‘ _By birth, yes,_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _But you’re a human who’s been brought up by a dragon, and I’m a were-dragon who was brought up by humans. You’re going to need to learn how to live as a human, just the way I did._ ’

‘ _Anyway, it’s not just weeing and pooing,_ ’ said Princess. ‘ _I’ve got an – illness that makes me bleed, sometimes. I can’t just decide not to bleed until I’m somewhere private, can I?_ ’

‘ _You mean bleeding between your legs?_ ’ said Maz. ‘ _That’s not an illness – all human women do that, unless they’re pregnant or old or not getting enough to eat. It’s like the way all werewolves turn into wolves at full moon, except that it isn’t quite as regular. Most women don’t talk about it in front of men, but Paul is a witch’s son, so I’m sure he’s heard it all before._ ’

Actually, Maz was making a wild generalisation here. Plenty of witches weren’t human, like Granny Flint and Nana Hithril, and didn’t worry much about human embarrassment, but several of the older human witches felt that one shouldn’t discuss female biology in front of men. But Beatrice considered that the world would be a much less confusing place if men and women understood how each other’s bodies worked, as well as their own. All the same, this didn’t mean he enjoyed listening to explanations. He led Perdita a tactful distance away from the older girls. ‘Come on Perdita, let’s find somewhere you can do a wee, and then a stream where you can have a wash,’ he said. ‘Then shall we look for some breakfast? We can probably find blackberries, and maybe bilberries. I think there’s a damson tree over there, too. Hey, maybe they’re damsons in distress, because they’re about to be eaten by a dragon!’

Normally, Perdita would have laughed, even if she didn’t understand the joke, just because she knew when Paul was making a joke. But now, she began crying again. ‘Don’t want to be a dragon!’ she sobbed. ‘I hate dragons!’

‘It’s all right, you’re just tired,’ said Paul. He could see that this wasn’t a good time to argue with Perdita, to point out that she was a dragon and that there was nothing she could do about that, but equally, there was no point in telling her that she didn’t hate dragons when, for the moment, she evidently did. He took her behind the gorse bush, and then, once she was drained, suggested looking for a suitable shady place, maybe under the damson tree, to rest for a while. 

Perdita refused to walk anywhere, and instead lay down in the shade of Martin’s bulk, with Obashu blowing a cooling breeze at her, while Maz flew off with the water bottle to find her a drink. She didn’t seem to object to any of these dragons, but when Gardas trudged over to see if she was all right, she wailed.

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ said Gardas, backing away.

‘ _It’s not your fault,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _She’s just tired._ ’

But he knew, and he knew Gardas knew, that it wasn’t just that. Everyone in the family had always taken turns at looking after Perdita, but it had always been Gardas who did most of the work, changing her nappies when she was a baby, bathing her, cuddling and tickling, singing her lullabies, and reading to her from the bestiary and the herbal because she liked books with pictures in. As a baby, she had most often gone to sleep on Gardas’s lap before being transferred into her cradle.

Paul could dimly remember Bara rocking him to sleep when he was little, and Sammaron grumbling that she was spoiling him, but not doing anything to stop her. They’d neither of them had any objection to kissing and hugging him and giving him piggy-back rides in the daytime; it was just that Sammaron thought that children who had been carried to bed and given a goodnight kiss, and who weren’t babies any more but big boys of nearly four, ought to be able to get to sleep without any further fuss, as long as the bedroom door was left open a crack, and a candle burning so that it wasn’t too dark.

When he was eleven, he’d thought he was too old for one more goodbye hug before he went off to the wizarding school. And then, of course, he’d had the news that his parents had been eaten by Azalar’s dragon, and he would never have the chance to hug them again. Of course, Beatrice didn’t mind giving him hugs as long as he was comfortable with that, but he was practically grown up now, and Beatrice couldn’t be a replacement for his first parents.

Beatrice was happy to give them all hugs when they wanted, including Gardas. She was the one who had worked out that the most effective way to turn Gardas from dragon form back into human form was to kiss him on the snout. She wasn’t remotely frightened of him, for all that Gardas insisted on seeing himself as an evil monster who had violated her. But equally, she couldn’t be as constantly tactile in showing affection to her teenage son and her grown-man friend as she could be with her husband, and with her three-year-old adopted child. There was a level of intimacy that you could only show to lovers, or small children, or pets – or cuddly, furry pets like cats and dogs, at any rate. Dragons weren’t particularly cuddly – well, apart from that furry Green dragon, if you didn’t mind multi-headed creatures.

Paul wondered whether Gardas had had anyone to cuddle him, when he was a child. Had the children at the potions farm huddled together for comfort? Had Gardas been accepted by the other children, or had he been an outcast even then? He didn’t talk much about his childhood when Paul was around. Perhaps he talked a bit more to Beatrice while Paul was at school or out with his friends.

Perdita was cuddled up asleep next to Princess, now. Maz’s head on its long neck stuck out from under Martin’s wing. Obashu lay alone, but his snout was burrowed into a patch of clover, its fluffy, purplish-white flowers smelling sweetly of honey, and he mumbled happily in his dreams. He clearly expected to be living in clover for real, before much time had passed.

Paul wanted to be angry with Maz, and with Martin – well, all right, he admitted to himself, he was angry, but it wasn’t as though shouting at them would do any good. Maz wasn’t his girlfriend. If he’d wanted her to be, he could have asked her any time in the past three years. It wasn’t her fault that, when he’d only recently started to fancy her and hadn’t yet found a way to say so, she met someone she fancied. It was just – he didn’t have anyone to sleep cuddled up against like that.

Neither did Gardas.

Paul reached up a hand and scratched Gardas behind the horns, as if he was scratching a dog behind its ears. Gardas thumped his tail with pleasure, and flipped out his long, pointed tongue to lick Paul’s face. His tongue was a red so dark it was almost black, Paul noticed. Gardas was wrong about red and yellow being absolute colours while blue and green and brown weren’t. But maybe things just looked different, to a dragon. Obashu’s tongue was similarly long and pointed, but bluish-purple. Maz had a bright red tongue with a dart on the end, matching the one on her tail, like most Gules dragons. Martin’s tongue was forked like a snake’s, and flickered in and out as he slept, tasting the air for any sign of danger.

Gardas’s breath wasn’t particularly pleasant in dragon form, but Black dragons at least didn’t have venomous saliva, and he wasn’t breathing flame. So Paul went on patting and stroking him until he settled down and went to sleep. Paul sat, pillowed against Gardas’s side, until he fell asleep too.


	28. Chapter 28

The dragons flew high over the Downs, trying to stay out of arrow-range until they could find a suitably remote place to land. Gardas had been in enough fights with humans, back when he belonged to Azalar, to be fairly sure that an arrow at this range wouldn’t pierce his armour, but if enough of them tore his wings, they could bring him crashing out of the sky. Even after their long rest on the moorland for most of the previous day, they had been flying again all last night. His wings ached from flying, and his paws ached from grasping the heavy boxes. But now that dawn was breaking, seeing what he had done to the Downs was even worse.

Admittedly, he and Paul and Auric had walked through it three years ago, when people hadn’t had time to rebuild and when they were viewing the devastation at human walking speed. But, even walking along high hill paths, he hadn’t been able to see as much of it at once as he could from the air. More importantly, back then he had been under a spell preventing him from remembering it. Now, he could remember – well, not precisely every village of innocent people whom he’d massacred, and every farm that his accursed fire had reduced to a blackened, blighted ruin where not even nettles could grow. There were too many of them. But he could remember doing it, and he could remember how exciting it had felt, because he was sick of humans and killing them was always a relief. Admittedly, the human he had mainly hated was Azalar, but he hadn’t allowed himself to admit that at the time. Azalar had been his master, after all.

He felt sick of himself, remembering. At least there’d be sure to be someone who remembered him and would kill him, the way the woman in the ballad had shot the orc with her crossbow. After all, Gardas had been exiled, even if Auric had tricked people into thinking he didn’t deserve to die, so he was committing a capital crime by coming back, and would get what he deserved at last. But if they shot him down from the sky, Paul would die, too, and he couldn’t let that happen. And Martin hadn’t done anything wrong, but that wouldn’t stop people shooting him, too, before they even saw that he had humans (well, one human girl and one who looked mostly human) riding on his back. And Obashu – well, Obashu had committed crimes, not just in the Downs when he was a dragonet, but sinking ships that came too near Wyrms. But it still wasn’t fair to let him get killed, when Clover was waiting for him.

‘ _Obashu,_ ’ he said, ‘ _if we find somewhere remote enough to land, can you take off again straight away, and fly home really fast? Maybe say goodbye to Princess now, before we land?_ ’

‘ _Sure, we…_ ’ began Obashu, and then he broke off. ‘ _No, Martin, what the KNIGHT do you think you’re doing? There are people there…_ ’

But Martin had already begun elegantly spiralling down to land on a patch of blackened, dragon-blighted land surrounded by crowds of people. Laid out on the black was a pattern of white lumps of chalk, which meant nothing to Obashu or Princess, and probably not to Perdita either. But Gardas could see, as Martin must have done, that they spelled out the words: DRAGON LANDING SITE.

Martin landed with Maz beside him, waited for Princess to climb off his back and help Perdita down, and then switched into human form, discreetly cupping his hands over his groin while he talked to the assembled people. Someone standing nearby, who seemed to have been expecting this, handed him a pair of trousers, which he hastily pulled on. Martin then moved to one side, so that there was room for another dragon to land.

‘ _You’re not going to trust humans, are you?_ ’ said Obashu, as Gardas prepared to descend.

‘ _I trust Beatrice,_ ’ Gardas called. He had spotted her, waving to him. And Auric was there, too – and Maz’s mother, Wizard Hannah, who was now cuddling her dragon daughter, allowing Maz to climb all over her and settle draped around her shoulders, head and tail hanging down like a scarf. Maz’s brother Will was standing by with Maz’s favourite dress ready for her to put on when she wanted to resume human form, but first they were making it plain that, dragon or human, Maz was family.

Gardas landed, and turned his head embarrassedly towards his own family. Auric was the first to greet him. ‘Gardas, you idiot! What do you think you’re playing at, coming here?’

‘I think what he’s doing is bringing presents,’ said Beatrice calmly. ‘Gardas, would you rather find somewhere more private to get changed?’

Gardas shook his head. Beatrice reached into the same bag of oddments of clothes that Martin’s trousers had come from, and produced a pair for Gardas. Paul climbed down from Gardas’s back, and Beatrice came forward, kissed Gardas on the snout to return him to human form, and stepped back to give him a chance to pull the trousers on. They were a bit short, and a bit baggy around the waist, but at least they covered the essentials. ‘Thank you,’ Gardas said nervously. ‘Uh – could you spare a piece of string, too?’

‘I should think so,’ said Beatrice. She held out the bag, and Gardas held his trousers up with one hand, while rummaging in the bag with the other until he found some cord to use as a belt.

‘Is your friend up there a were-dragon too?’ asked Beatrice.

‘No, he’s a true-dragon. He’s not happy around humans – he might want to land somewhere further off…’

But Obashu was already flying low. He touched down for just long enough to put his boxes down before taking off again, and was already out of earshot as everyone shouted goodbye and thank you to him.

‘Beatrice!’ called Perdita, running towards her mother and tripping over her too-long, borrowed dress. Beatrice picked her up and reassured her.

‘She’s had a tough time,’ said Gardas.

‘By the look of it, you all did,’ said Beatrice. ‘Is the Blue dragon planning to go back to Wyrms, do you know?’

‘How did you know where we’d been?’ asked Paul.

‘Good question,’ said Auric drily. ‘The first we heard was when Nana Hithril flew over to the Downs to tell us that the goats had turned up and banged on the door of Nick and Nell’s cottage, demanding to be milked. It’s all right, Nell sent young Robbie over to feed the chickens and water the garden, too, so things should be all right. Then Hannah and Will came to tell us that Maz had gone missing too, and they wondered if Maz might be with you lot. Hannah and I spent the next few days desperately trying to find a scrying mirror, which isn’t easy in a country where most people don’t even have basics like food and shelter. We eventually managed to scry the night before last, by which time you were being healed by Grey dragons in a valley somewhere in Cideria, and Perdita and Gardas were being healed by a three-headed Green in what looked like Wyrms. I wanted to teleport all three of you home at once, but Beatrice said you all seemed to be handling the situation well and you’d probably be along here before long anyway. I wasn’t sure why you’d come here instead of going safely home, but maybe you can explain that?’

The travellers looked at each other. ‘It was my idea, sir,’ said Martin finally. ‘I’d – heard of spells to restore the dead to life, using diamonds, but I’d never completed my wizarding training and I wasn’t sure how to do it. Anyway, Obashu – the Blue dragon who’s just flown away – gave us his hoard, and we thought that if we brought it over here, the wizards here could use the diamonds to raise some of the dead, and use the rest for – whatever else the Downs needs to buy, at the moment.’

‘That still doesn’t explain why an exiled war criminal is back here,’ growled a stocky, blond-haired man who was standing near the front of the crowd.

‘Stock that,’ said the woman next to him. She was wearing a headscarf made from a piece of greyish-brown cloth, which hid most of her head apart from her forehead and eyes. Her brow was scored with worry-lines, but her violet-blue eyes were as gentle as ever, and strikingly unusual against her brown skin.

Gardas bowed low. ‘Lady Kira, you are still beautiful,’ he said, and he meant it. He knew that most of what was hidden under the cloth would be a scarred mess, but her eyes had always been her most beautiful feature anyway, and the scarf made her look exotic and mysterious instead of disfigured.

‘Yes, I think so, too,’ said the blond-haired man firmly, laying a protective hand on Kira’s arm. His face was unblemished, though his hands had no thumbs. Another old inmate of the potions farm? Gardas tried to think whether he could recall the face, but he wasn’t good at recognising faces at the best of times, and identifying a grown man from someone he had known as a child more than twenty years earlier was hopeless.

‘Eggyard, league hing alone,’ said Kira. ‘I’g told you, he didn’t do anything to nge. That was all Lankin. Gardas was tied to a chair and couldn’t helk nge.’

‘Yes, I know, and I believe you,’ said Evyard – yes, Gardas dimly remembered the name of the small boy who had been the potions farm expert on whittling toys out of scraps of wood. ‘But you have to believe me when I say he changed after you were gone. It wasn’t just that he hit us when Lankin told him to – he _enjoyed_ hurting us. The day Lankin had a buyer for me, I didn’t know he was just going to chop my thumbs off and let me go – I was expecting a full disembowelling. And I certainly didn’t believe what the priest said about going to heaven if I was a good boy and said my prayers – I was just hoping that if I wasn’t a true believer, the potion wouldn’t work. But I didn’t mind dying, if I could get out of the hell-hole that the farm became after you’d gone and Gardas turned vicious. And then when he grew up a bit and learned how to turn himself into a dragon, we got – this.’ Evyard gestured at the barren ground they were standing on.

Kira looked at Gardas without saying anything. She obviously wished he could deny it, but if he did deny it, Kira would know he was lying.

‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘There’s evil in me. Always has been. It’s not because I’m a were-dragon – most were-dragons are good people, like Maz and Martin and Perdita,’ (he gestured at his friends). ‘I can’t atone – not even with my blood. Don’t have enough blood to wash away this much sin – not in one go, anyway. But if you kill me, you can take what I’ve got.’

‘Are you mad?’ snapped Evyard.

‘Yes,’ said Gardas. It seemed pointless to deny that, either.

‘Well, yes, obviously you are, but – we’re not!’ retorted Evyard, annoyed at being interrupted. ‘And we’re not monsters like you and Lankin and Azalar. We don’t want your blood. We just want you to get out of the Downs and not come back again.’

‘We were planning to go home today anyway,’ Beatrice pointed out. ‘And that line about blood – wasn’t as melodramatic as it sounded. Gardas found out that he could use his blood when in dragon form to heal injuries, and since then he’s been donating blood – of his own free will – to make potions to restore blighted land. The potions we brought with us all contained some. Isn’t that right, Gardas?’

‘Yes,’ said Gardas. ‘I can keep on giving more until the land’s better, if I don’t give it all now in one go. It’s just – you should have the choice. There’s other stuff, too,’ he went on. ‘Some pretty cloth in one of these boxes – maybe Kira and some of the others who’ve been scarred could make nicer veils out of it. There might be some dark blue velvet to match your eyes,’ he added to Kira.

‘And you think THAT’S going to help?’ spat Evyard. ‘Do you think pretty scarves are all women think about? Do you know what it’s like for Kira even trying to eat and drink? Not being able to kiss me – or to kiss our children? When our eldest was learning to talk, he used to ask for a slice of “gread” or to sit on the “kotty” because that’s how he heard Kira talking! And you think giving her some pretty cloth is going to make up for all that?’

‘Thank you, Gardas,’ said Kira firmly. ‘That’s gery sweet og you.’

That made two females in three days who had called him sweet, Gardas thought. It wasn’t a word he could really associate with himself, but if they couldn’t solve his problems, saying it to him was all that Kira or Clover could give him. Just as, if he couldn’t solve Kira’s problems, giving her some (possibly rather sea-damaged) velvet was all he could do for her.

Meanwhile, Hannah and Auric were busy with their own discussion. ‘Have you ever heard of using diamonds to raise the dead?’ asked Hannah.

‘The only reference I can remember was a passing line in an old poem I read as a boy,’ said Auric. ‘But we’d better ask around. Some of the wizards in the Walled City might be able to find out more.’


	29. Chapter 29

As it turned out, they had to stay in the Downs for several days longer, while Auric, Hannah, Gardas, and assorted other wizards including Kira, researched necromancy. Kira, as far as Paul could make out from her distorted speech, had been adopted by an association of mutilation-survivors, who brought up mutilated children and helped them to find jobs that they could do, in the hope that they would help others like them. Kira had learned very early on how to do non-verbal magic, as pronouncing the words of spells was so difficult, so her guardians had found a wizard who was willing to give her private lessons, as she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of going to school. Remembering how humiliating it had been going to school in the year when his right arm didn’t work, Paul couldn’t blame her.

Now, she was a researcher into non-verbal magic at the university, but she and Evyard also toured all the wizarding schools in the Downs to explain to the pupils there about the trade in human body parts and why it must be stamped out. It had been illegal for as long as Paul could remember, but it still persisted. When he tried to ask the adult wizards whether it had been illegal in their day, Gardas and Kira just shrugged. It happened, illegal or not, and the priests accepted it, supposedly because martyred children went to places of great honour in heaven. Auric said he was fairly sure it had been illegal when he was a boy, but that Azalar had always managed to get hold of unusual ingredients. Gardas stared down at the ground. He didn’t make eye contact very much anyway, but more often he looked past people, glancing around, even while he was talking to them. Now, he looked as if he was specifically trying to avoid catching anyone’s eye, and especially Kira’s or Evyard’s.

The innkeeper who had been happy to house the human members of Auric’s and Hannah’s families drew the line at finding accommodation for ten people, four of whom were were-dragons, especially considering that Gardas suffered from uncontrollable transformations. As it was, many people in the crowd were chanting, ‘Dragons out! Dragons out!’ When one of them threw a stone which hit Martin, Gardas had to fight not to switch back to dragon form, and instead just gave himself claws and a scaly face again. To calm him down, Beatrice gave him the job of cleaning and bandaging the (not very deep) graze on Martin’s forehead, which he managed surprisingly well with claws, before she turned him back.

Eventually, the university in the Walled City offered them space in some of the student rooms, as any of the students who had homes to go to were home for the summer. Perdita slept that night in a nest of blankets beside Beatrice and Auric’s bed where they were staying. Paul, Martin, Gardas, and Maz’s brother Will shared one room, and Maz, Hannah and Princess the other. Auric helped reinforce magical warding around the campus to keep the mobs from attacking.

Paul had always thought that ‘necromancy’ just meant calling up the ghosts of the dead to ask questions of them. Apparently it included all kinds of spells including ones to bring the dead back to life – and many more sinister spells.

Paul was surprised – and then ashamed of being surprised – at how much Gardas knew about all this. He had always thought of Gardas, first as Azalar’s monster, and then as his mother’s willing apprentice, stripped of his magic but humbly glad to be of use, who sat by her and ground or chopped herbs for potions. It wasn’t as if Gardas had ever finished his education, after all.

But nonetheless, he had spent fourteen years working for Azalar, and he wasn’t stupid. He knew which spells Azalar had used to steal other people’s life force to heal his own wounds, or to wound or kill others by magic, and to turn their corpses into zombies. He had less knowledge of benevolent uses of this kind of magic, but he knew that Azalar had occasionally used them. For example, there had been the time that Auric had wounded Gardas badly in a fight and he was close to death, unconscious and unable to shape-shift, and Azalar had used magic to stabilise him for long enough to get him home and treat his wounds.

Paul, Maz and Martin offered to help look through spell-books for suitable spells. Hannah tried to protest that they were too young, but Auric retorted that if Paul had been old enough at twelve to fight Gardas and Azalar, he was certainly old enough at sixteen to read books about necromancy. Maz pointed out, as her mother continued to object, that she was chronologically twenty-four years old and had sat on Hannah’s shoulder as a hatchling while Hannah practised advanced spells at university, and that Martin had successfully passed as a grown man elsewhere. Hannah sighed, and gave in.

Princess didn’t know how to read, and was so nervous of the vast number of humans that she could barely remember how to speak Westron. Beatrice made some excuse about witches not being interested in necromancy, and offered to keep Princess and Perdita company while the wizards were busy. Paul knew it wasn’t true. Beatrice loved reading, and even the fire-damaged remains of the library in the Walled City’s university contained hundreds of times more books than a poor country witch in Cideria could afford. But being a witch meant you had to put other people first, and particularly had to protect children, and Princess knew so little about the way the human world worked that she was barely more than a child. 

By the time they stopped for lunch on the first day, and Beatrice and the girls came to join them for a lunch of bread and cheese in the university gardens, Paul offered to swap places with his mother for the afternoon. He was bored with reading about spells that he had no chance of ever being able to do, he said, and he’d really like to take his new friend Princess and his little sister for a walk and show them around some of the places he used to know.

‘We could do with another grown-up researcher with a bit more knowledge of magic, though,’ Auric added. ‘Especially someone from a different magical tradition, who can compare the way different kinds of magic work.’

‘What about you, Gardas?’ Beatrice asked, amused at how transparent they were being. ‘Are you going to try and rope me in, too?’

Gardas, Paul was quite sure, could have won Beatrice over by giving her a pleading, I’m-so-lonely look. Instead, he looked down at the textbook in front of him. ‘Wouldn’t mind having you here,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve missed you. But – Perdita missed you more. And she’s a kiddie and I’m a grown-up.’

‘I know,’ said Beatrice. ‘But she knows Paul, and she seems to get on well with Princess. Well – we had a long walk this morning, and I think Perdita could do with a rest this afternoon. What do you think, Perdita? Will you be all right if it’s Paul and Princess keeping an eye on you while you have your nap? Or do you need it to be me?’

‘You!’ said Perdita, clinging to her adoptive mother.

‘If you lend me some books, I can go through them while Perdita rests,’ Beatrice pointed out. ‘And Paul, if you and Princess want to go for a walk while we’re doing that – well, it’s a bit late for me to worry about chaperoning you two, but don’t go anywhere too private, and make sure you’re on your best behaviour, okay?’

To be honest, Paul would have preferred to take Princess somewhere private, maybe for a walk in any surviving patches of woodland. It wasn’t that he wanted to grope her without her being able to call for help if she didn’t like it. He just didn’t want her to have to deal with the stress of being surrounded by humans, or with the embarrassment of not knowing how to behave. 

But at the same time, if Princess did decide she was bored with her dress and decided to take it off, and they had a cuddle while naked and she enjoyed it – well, she wouldn’t know enough to think, ‘We’d better not go any further because I could get pregnant and I haven’t known Paul for long enough to know if he’ll make a good father for my child.’ And he might be having too much fun to stop to explain all this. And then he’d spend the rest of his life feeling guilty, the way Gardas did about him.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll just go for a walk around town, then.’

‘Fair enough. And if Perdita feels like spending some time with Paul later on, or tomorrow, we can swap then.’

Paul woke several times in the night to hear Perdita crying or shouting for help, Beatrice reassuring her, and Auric speaking the spell to clean and dry out bedding. By morning, all three of them looked exhausted, but Perdita was willing to let Paul and Princess take her out for a walk to the Holy Hills, to see the new hill-figures that had been carved, deep through the blighted layer on the surface and into pure white chalk. The unicorn on the right had been re-carved much the same way he had looked before, with his goat-like beard and hooves, long spiral horn, horse’s mane, and lion-like tufted tail, except that there was now the figure of a girl inspecting his hooves, perhaps checking for trapped stones.

The other three figures were different. The dragon, which had been a winged dragon looking rather like Gardas before, was now a wingless worm who looked even more snake-like than Obashu, with branched horns like a deer. Paul had never met one of this species, but had read about them in his textbook: how they renewed their youth by sloughing their skin like snakes and shedding their antlers like deer, and how they used their antlers to hear, and, when they shed them, were deaf until the new antlers grew, but had sharper hearing with each passing year as their antlers grew larger. This variety of dragon was the obvious companion to his facing image: a phoenix, the bird who renews his youth by bursting into flame and being reborn from the ashes. 

Finally, on the left, there was a peligasus, a creature with a pelican’s head and wings and a horse’s body. The picture showed it in the act of giving life to its young. Peligasi don’t lay eggs like birds, nor foal like normal horses. Instead, the peligasus gashes its own breast with its beak, and, where drops of blood spring to the ground, new peligasus foals spring up.

Paul could see why people would have chosen this as their symbol. Along with the self-regenerating deer-dragon and phoenix, this was a way of saying defiantly, ‘And even if you kill us, the next generation will still rise.’ He didn’t think anyone could have known, when they began work, about Gardas actually deciding to donate blood to restore the land he had damaged.

That afternoon, Princess asked to come along to the wizards’ discussion. ‘ _Do you think you’ll be able to follow what we’re talking about?_ ’ asked Paul, in Dragonese. ‘ _I know your Westron is good enough to say,_ “Pass the bread,” _and things, but – well, most of the conversations we’re having are so technical they don’t even sound like Westron. And understanding Kira is even harder._ ’

‘ _Well, I’d like to be there, anyway,_ ’ said Princess.

‘ _All right, then. I can translate for you – or Gardas can. He’ll probably be better at it._ ’

After a week of searching, the combined wizards had been through every likely-looking book, and the only apparently serious reference to resurrection was one line in an ancient text: ‘The stones being brought together, the wizard touched them, and the king arose.’ Kira was the one who had found this, and she gestured to everyone else to read the relevant line, rather than attempting to read it out loud.

‘I’d have thought he’d have to touch the dead body of the king, as well,’ said Martin. ‘I mean – I’ve only heard about this by going to another world where they have legends about a world like this, but in those stories, you need to be touching the dead body. But I suppose you might need to touch the heap of gemstones with your other hand, and channel the magic through your body.’ He then repeated all this in Dragonese for Princess’s benefit.

‘ _What? Why didn’t you say anything before about touching the body?_ ’ snapped Princess. ‘ _Obashu ATE my parents and the rest of their crew! Didn’t Gardas eat your parents, and Paul’s foster parents?_ ’

‘ _I can’t remember,_ ’ Gardas admitted. ‘ _I didn’t often have time to eat the whole of anybody. Most often I just burned everyone to ash. And – well, I didn’t know Martin’s parents, so I don’t know whether they were people I ate most of or not. But – I do remember not eating all of Bara or Sammaron, because Azalar told me to bring back their heads as proof that I’d got the right people. When I’d shown them to him, he let me keep them in my cave. Bara was pretty, at first, but then she started rotting, so I turned her face to the wall so I could just look at her hair. Her hair went on being pretty, even when the rest of her rotted. It was golden, like corn, and I used to pick flowers to weave into it…_ ’

‘ _Yes, yes, we get the idea,_ ’ Paul managed to interrupt at last. Gardas didn’t usually reminisce like this unless someone had given him a truth potion, but he tended to be more talkative in Dragonese than in Westron, and right now, tiredness seemed to have loosened his inhibitions as much as any potion could do.

‘ _Anyway, while Gardas was in prison after Azalar was defeated – after Gardas rebelled against Azalar and killed him,_ ’ Paul added, trying to give the Black were-dragon his due, ‘ _we buried what was left of the bodies we found there. And there’d have been something buried of Martin’s parents, too, even if people just scraped up the ash. Martin, do you need the whole body, to resurrect it?_ ’

‘ _I think the spell’s supposed to regrow missing body parts,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _So – even if all we’ve got is some hair, it might regrow the head that the hair belonged to, and the body that the head belonged to._ ’

‘ _Princess, did Obashu leave you any keepsakes of your parents?_ ’ Gardas asked. ‘ _Any bones in one of the treasure chests, or something?_ ’

‘ _No, just gold and shiny stones,_ ’ said Princess. ‘ _I don’t even know if Obashu really DID eat my parents,_ ’ she admitted. ‘ _I thought he did, but I was really little and I don’t remember very clearly. He mostly preferred fish – he didn’t even like otters or seagulls much. So – if my parents weren’t eaten, they might still be at the bottom of the sea._ ’

Paul relayed all of this to the other humans.

‘So, we’ve got parts of the bodies of Bara and Sammaron, we may or may not have enough of the bodies of Martin’s parents, and we don’t know whether the bodies of Princess’s parents are available,’ said Auric. ‘Not to mention everyone else who was killed fighting in the wizarding war. And – Martin, how many diamonds does it take to resurrect somebody?’

‘I don’t know,’ Martin admitted.

‘ _If we try it on my parents first and it doesn’t work, we won’t know whether it’s because they were eaten, or because we’re not touching their bodies, or because we don’t have enough diamonds,_ ’ said Princess thoughtfully. ‘ _And – they died so long ago that I don’t really remember them, anyway. Maybe we’d better try it on Paul’s adoptive parents first, and then try for some more resurrections if we’ve got any diamonds left._ ’

‘ _I think we should try Martin’s parents first,_ ’ said Paul. ‘ _I’ve still got a family – my stepfather, my birth mother, my biological father, and my adopted sister. Martin hasn’t got anyone – have you, Martin?_ ’

‘ _I’ve got a great-aunt,_ ’ said Martin. ‘ _I didn’t know she was still alive, but she sent me a note today to say that it was my father’s bad blood that caused all this, and she knew my mother was a fool to marry him, and that Auric had promised I’d be out of the Downs by a week ago and what was going on?_ ’

‘I think we’d better resurrect Martin’s parents first,’ said Paul in Westron. ‘Even if it just means they all have to flee to Cideria with us.’


	30. Chapter 30

Paul still wasn’t sure whether the spell would work. Now that they had checked, depressingly little of Princess’s treasure actually was in the form of diamonds. They had weighed them, and would need to weigh them again after the resurrection spell (if it worked) to check how many had been used up. They were odd-looking diamonds, mostly black or dark grey, and about the size of peas. 

After thinking about it a bit longer, Martin had remembered that, in the fantasy world that had fantasy games about what sounded like their world, the games referred to resurrecting people with ‘diamonds worth a thousand gold pieces.’ The trouble was that, as Martin pointed out, ‘it didn’t say what size of gold pieces or what the exchange rate was between them and diamonds. And – I think there was another version that can create a new body if the original body is destroyed, where you just say the name of the person you’re resurrecting, but that costs diamonds worth twenty-five thousand gold pieces. They get used up in casting the spell, and it’s supposed to be so tiring that afterwards, the spellcaster just needs to go to bed for the rest of the day.’

Paul hoped that the sort of diamonds they had were worth enough gold pieces. If only the old Gold dragon’s death had led to Obashu giving his hoard away, did that mean they were worth a Sovereign?

Finding the bodies of Martin’s parents wasn’t as hard as it might have been, as it turned out. Their remains, like those of many other people, had been moved to a memorial cemetery for those who had died in the struggle against Azalar, on one of the many areas of blighted ground. Kira helped Martin find the right grave, while everyone else followed carrying sacks containing all the diamonds there had been in Princess’s treasure. 

Since the protesters who had been throwing rocks at the wards outside the university hadn’t bothered to ask why the were-dragon party were staying so long, they hadn’t realised that the group might be visiting the cemetery. The only people there were a few people laying flowers on graves.

Martin unwrapped the bundle he was carrying, which contained a spade, and begun to dig. It was a hot day, and, in human form and without the protection of a dragon’s powers, he was soon drenched in sweat. He had taken his shirt off, revealing the wing markings on his back. After an hour or so, he crouched down to rest for a few minutes.

‘I can take a turn if you want,’ offered Gardas. ‘I’m the one who killed them, so it’s only fair.’

‘No,’ said Martin. ‘I think I need to do this myself.’ He dug on until his spade hit something hard. Then he rummaged in the soil, and pulled out a small urn with two names inscribed on it. ‘I don’t know if all the ash of both of them is in here,’ he admitted. ‘But they won’t be comfortable if they get resurrected in something this cramped.’

‘What are you doing over there?’ called a man who was visiting one of the other graves, with a small child who was probably his grandchild.

‘Trying to resurrect my parents,’ said Martin.

‘Oh. Well – good luck,’ said the old man uncertainly.

Martin poured out all the sacks of diamonds into a single heap, on the ground beside the grave. He sat, legs dangling down into the grave, with the diamonds on one side, and then emptied the ash into a small heap on his discarded shirt, and placed this carefully on the other side. With one hand touching the diamonds, and the other touching the pile of ash, Martin sat, eyes closed, and concentrated intensely.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then, the glittering pile of diamonds began to shift about, and build up into a towering heap, until a glittering black troll stood over Martin. He looked oddly like Maz’s friend Galena.

Auric, Hannah and Beatrice stared in astonishment at him for a moment, and then all knelt down, motioning to the others to do the same. ‘King Carbonado!’ exclaimed Auric, in astonishment.

‘Yes,’ said the troll king, in a deep, solemn voice. ‘Might I know whom I have to thank for my resurrection?’

‘I’m Martin, sir – sire,’ said Martin nervously. ‘Uh – to be honest, I worked the spell by accident. I was trying to bring my parents back, your majesty. I’d heard stories about a spell…’

‘I’m sorry,’ said the troll sadly, laying a hard, rocky hand on Martin’s shoulder. ‘That spell doesn’t work on humans – never has. They’re too soft to keep properly. But now – I wish I could offer you a reward, but before I can do that, I need to return to Kernow and resume the work I started.’

‘What were you working on?’ asked Martin.

‘Bringing peace between trolls, dwarves, giants, and humans,’ said Carbonado. ‘For too many centuries, my people have fought against the dwarves, and humans have fought against giants. When my wife Nickeline and I had our first pebble, we resolved that little Galena was going to inherit a better word than the one we’d grown up in.

‘Well, I arranged meetings with the dwarf king, the giant chief and the human queen in Kernow, and took messages between humans and giants in return for the human queen taking messages between trolls and dwarves, and after we had spent years wrangling over peace terms, we finally agreed on a treaty wording that was acceptable to all of us. But then, when I was sitting around a table with the other three leaders, someone smashed me to pieces with a pickaxe. It might have been that the dwarves had only ever brought me there to slaughter me, or it might have been that one of my own followers thought that I had made too many concessions and that he or she could do a better job of ruling. Can you tell me, please: what is the situation in Kernow now?’

‘It’s very bad, I’m afraid, Your Majesty,’ said Auric. ‘Trolls are fleeing as far east as Cideria – they might even be moving into the Downs by now.’

‘Have you heard anything of a troll called Nickeline? She’s a copper-bronze colour, about this high,’ (Carbonado indicated a height slightly shorter than his own), ‘probably with a square, silver-black daughter with her.’

‘There are some trolls who’ve moved to Cideria, just this summer, and one of them’s called Galena,’ said Maz. ‘They’re not exactly children any more – more like young adults our age. Galena told me her mother was dead, but she didn’t say anything about a father.’

‘Well, she was only a pebble when I died. I don’t suppose she’d remember me,’ said Carbonado. ‘Does she have a pet imp, by any chance?’

‘Yes, called Phono,’ said Maz. ‘She doesn’t treat him very well, I have to say.’

‘Poor old Phono. He does his best,’ sighed Carbonado. ‘But if I’ve been dead a few years, I suppose he must be getting on a bit, for an imp, and if there are new young imps for sale who can be taught to do all sorts of tricks – well, I suppose I should be glad she hasn’t abandoned him altogether.’

‘I thought Galena had probably only owned him a couple of years or so,’ said Maz. ‘When he’s concussed, he usually reverts to thinking that he’s still on sale in the shop and that Galena might decide to buy another imp instead of him.’

‘No, Phono’s always had those memory problems, if he falls and hits his head,’ said Carbonado. ‘Of course, it’s an occupational hazard of belonging to a troll, since we don’t have pockets he can nest in. I generally used to carry him in a pouch on a string around my neck – not so tight that it pressed uncomfortably on him or so muffled that I couldn’t hear his voice, obviously, but secure enough for him not to fall out. I really should be getting back to both of them.’

Paul considered this, and he could see that everyone else was considering it, too. The spell had worked, even if it hadn’t done exactly what Martin had expected. It had given a dead parent back to an orphaned child. Except that Galena’s father was a long, slow walk away from her, and an even longer walk from Kernow. Trolls are too heavy to travel by broomstick, and they hate walking in the hot sun.

‘Would it help if I teleport you as far as Woadhill?’ offered Hannah.

‘That would be extremely kind,’ said Carbonado.

‘I think it’s time we teleported everyone home,’ said Auric. ‘We’ve outstayed our welcome by a long way as it is.’

‘It’s an awful waste of magic, teleporting everywhere,’ grumbled Beatrice. ‘It wouldn’t take us very long to get home by broom or by dragon, and there’s so much that you don’t see if you teleport. But then again…’

‘You’re missing home, too?’ said Auric.

‘Definitely. The goats will never forgive me if I stay away any longer.’

‘What about Martin and Princess?’ pointed out Maz indignantly. ‘Where are they supposed to go?’

‘Would you consider Cideria?’ Beatrice asked the two orphans. ‘After all, we’re fairly comfortable with were-dragons, compared to the Downs, and I’m sure there are families in our village who can find space for you.’

‘She is sure. She’s a witch, and she can make sure they do,’ Paul explained. ‘After all, Cideria found room for Gardas and Auric and Perdita and me, when we moved there from the Downs – and for Galena and the other Kernese refugees. I’m sure they can manage a couple more people. That’s if you want to come, of course.’


	31. Chapter 31

‘How are you feeling?’ Beatrice asked Gardas. ‘You’ve been very quiet ever since we got back.’

It had been a week now since they had returned to Cideria. The moon had darkened and was now waxing again, and had taken to rising in the afternoon and setting sometime towards midnight. It seemed to think it was on holiday, and therefore entitled to loaf around and enjoy gazing down on the people who were busy with the harvest. 

Today, even Maz and Martin had flown over from Drakespring and taken human form to help out with the harvest in the morning. After lunch, they had got changed and invited Perdita out for a flight, and Perdita had decided that she still liked flying as long as she was with them. With the little light available from the crescent moon, she couldn’t fly very far in one go, but Maz and Martin seemed cheerful about taking her out for the afternoon. 

Gardas had considered offering to go with them, but hadn’t dared. Not because the two teenagers would want to do whatever it was teenage were-dragons did when they were unchaperoned – after all, they wouldn’t have much opportunity to get into mischief, with a young dragonet to look after. The problem was that his presence would have spoiled things for Perdita.

Martin was living with a foster family in Drakespring, and was going to be going the same school as Paul and Maz when the harvest was over. Since this was a general school that offered magic lessons alongside other subjects, and Martin had been at a specialist school that taught nothing but the various aspects of magic from the age of eleven, he was probably going to be far ahead in this subject. On the other hand, he was going to be far behind in virtually every other subject. Apparently, when they weren’t helping on farms, Maz was spending a lot of time visiting his house to tutor him.

Gardas sighed. Paul and Princess seemed to be getting on well, too. Princess was living with Gardas’s friends George, who organised the village plays that Gardas loved acting in, and George’s wife Meg. These two were teachers at the village school, with Meg teaching the five to eight year olds, and George teaching the eight to elevens. Right now, they were trying to teach Princess enough social skills to be able to cope with going to this school for a while, until she had caught up enough to go on to the high school in Drakespring. Paul visited her a lot of the time, to help with her Westron lessons by providing a Dragonese explanation of what people were saying. Today, they were helping with the harvest, too. 

Meanwhile, Auric was upstairs reading some of the spell-books that the Walled City university had lent him. This left Gardas to help Beatrice prepare plenty of clean bandages and an infusion of dragonwort leaves to clean the wounds of anyone who was careless swinging a scythe. And, of course, it also left Beatrice to probe into what was on Gardas’s mind.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.

‘You and Paul still haven’t said much about what happened while you were away. I mean, I know Perdita got lost and you and Paul went to look for her; I know you met Maz and Martin at some point, and that Martin is a Downslander who had travelled into another world and got trapped there; and I know that you met a Blue dragon who had been holding a girl captive, and that he decided to release her and give her all his hoard as compensation. I know you and Paul don’t want to talk to me or Auric about whatever happened, or to Xanthus, and the two of you haven’t been out together much lately, so I don’t suppose you’ve had the chance to talk to each other. Which shouldn’t be a problem for Paul, because he’s got Maz and Princess and Martin. But you’re getting more withdrawn than I’ve ever seen you, even when you first came here after the war. You haven’t been out for a flight once since you landed in the Downs. So, is there anything you want to tell me? Or anything you think you ought to tell me?’

Gardas said nothing.

‘All right, I’ll tell you what else I know, then,’ said Beatrice. ‘I know that Perdita still keeps wetting her bed every night, I know that she and Paul have both been having nightmares, and I imagine you’d have them, too, if you weren’t downing a calming potion every evening. I know that Perdita keeps telling her toy dragons to stop fighting, but they don’t seem to be listening. Terry Cotta’s had a broken tail twice in the past week, and when Auric put him on the top shelf so that he wouldn’t get broken again, Perdita pulled Ragnar’s wings off and gave her to Auric to put there, too. She doesn’t normally damage her toys on purpose. And she doesn’t normally avoid you, either. So, what’s been going on?’

‘Perdita found out that I’m a monster,’ said Gardas. ‘That’s why she doesn’t like me.’

‘ _You don’t like me, do you?_ ’ said Shadow.

‘What was that?’ asked Beatrice, who had a limited knowledge of Dragonese. ‘Did you say I don’t like you?’

‘No, Shadow said I don’t like him,’ explained Gardas. ‘He’s – the dragon part of me that was split off from the human part when I lost my magic. But he’s wrong. I don’t hate him more than I hate the rest of me. I just hate the fact that I’m still alive.’

Beatrice moved round so that she was sitting next to Gardas, which meant both that she could hold his hand, and that he didn’t have to look her in the eye. ‘I – got separated from Paul in the woods,’ he explained. ‘It’s not his fault – some sort of spell snatched him away. And then – when I was alone, I met Shadow. At least, he’s always been there, but I suppose he just hadn’t spoken before, or I wasn’t listening at the right time. He’s very young – I suppose he’s about Perdita’s mental age, really. Only – you know how, with the How To Train Your Demon stories, I couldn’t decide whether I felt more like a chaos demon, or a demonologist who has a demon?’

‘What do you think now?’ asked Beatrice.

‘I think it’s both. Shadow is my demon, only instead of being a wise old demon like the one in the story, he’s like a baby demon on its first journey into the material world.’

Beatrice nodded. ‘And you know what that means, don’t you?’

‘That I’ve got to be a good role model to Shadow, because I’m the only parent he’s ever had.’ Gardas buried his head in his hands. ‘But I can’t do it! I’m not a good enough person. And it’s not like in those books, where if you use your demon to commit a murder, a god comes and takes the demon away. When I do something wrong, people get hurt, and Shadow’s still there and a bit more excited. But at least if I died, Shadow would die, instead of just hopping to someone else. That’s one good thing.’

‘Did that happen on this journey? You hurting people, or Shadow hurting them?’

Gardas explained what he could remember of the adventures since he and Paul had set off in search of Perdita. When he came to the point where his human mind had shut down, Shadow interrupted: ‘ _I didn’t kill anyone. The Sovereign didn’t want me to. I hurt people when she told me to. But then I was a bad boy, and I bit off one of the Green dragon’s heads when the Sovereign wanted the Green dragon to bite it off herself. So I had to be beaten, because it’s bad to not do what you’re told._ ’

Gardas translated this.

‘So Shadow’s idea of “being a bad boy” isn’t hurting people, but doing anything other than what he’s told to?’ said Beatrice. ‘I wonder where he got that idea?’

Gardas hung his head. ‘From me,’ he said. ‘I’m evil, and I’m not fit to be Shadow’s parent. Being too lazy and cowardly to think for myself is evil.’

‘But from what you’ve said, the Sovereign was controlling everyone: her mate and Obashu, Princess, and to some extent even Martin and the three-headed dragon.’

‘Yes. And all the other dragons on the island. She had – some kind of magic that stopped them being able to think properly.’

‘So it wasn’t just because there was something wrong with you?’

‘No, it’s just…’ Gardas knew Beatrice was going to say he was inconsistent, because he was judging himself differently from other people. ‘Look, I just know that I’m evil, okay? It’s the only thing I do know about myself – I don’t know who my parents are, or anything. Knowing I’m a monster is all I’ve got to hold onto.’

‘Because Lankin told you that you were, when you were nine?’

‘Yes. And because Evyard and all the others could see that it was true. Children are innocent, so they always know whether someone’s a monster or not.’

‘So were you innocent, when you were a child?’

‘No. Monsters aren’t really children, ever.’

‘So, because of all these people who’ve told you you’re evil – first Lankin, then Azalar, and now the Sovereign – you haven’t trusted yourself to make your own decisions, so you’ve done what they told you, and when what you were told to do is destructive, you take that as proof that you’re evil.’

‘Yes.’

‘So – can you think of a way out of that?’

‘I need to die.’

‘Another way?’

Gardas thought about it. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I thought it wouldn’t matter that I was a monster, as long as I was your monster, or Paul’s, because you’re good people and you can tell me the right things to do, instead of the wrong things. But you can’t be around all the time, and when I’m left to myself, I go back to being evil, because I’m a monster.’

‘You healed that Green dragon when you first met her in the woods, when you’d been left to yourself, didn’t you?’ Beatrice reminded him.

‘Well, yes, but that was just… just…’

‘Just you being a kind, caring person? Who isn’t always evil?’

Gardas shrugged, not wanting to concede the point, but having no way of arguing.

‘And – the previous time, it took you until you were thirty to break free of Azalar’s control. This time, you went into a brief frenzy in which you didn’t actually kill anyone, but just gave them injuries which were treatable – and you actually prevented the Green dragon for inflicting an injury on herself that she wouldn’t be able to cure. Then you calmed down, and worked with the others on an escape plan. I think that sounds like progress. What do you think?’

‘I think I was supposed to die.’

‘What? When?’

‘Well – the best time would have been just after I killed Azalar – maybe he could have thrown a killing spell at me just as I breathed fire on him. Then Paul could have told his children I was the bravest person he’d ever known, and maybe named his second son after me, and he wouldn’t have had to deal with actually living with me.’

‘Why his second son, particularly?’

‘I’m not one of the four best parents he’s had. I thought he might name his first son Auric Sammaron, and his first daughter Beatrice Bara, and then the third child could be a Gardas.’

Beatrice smiled. ‘Do you think Auric Sammaron Spinner would have liked having the initials A, S, S?’

Gardas passed his hands over his face again. ‘I didn’t think of that,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe he could be Sammaron Auric Spinner, instead? SAS, like the Sorcerers’ Armed Service – you know, the ones with the motto, “Who hexes, wins,”?’

‘Maybe. Although I suppose he wouldn’t have to interpret ASS as meaning that he’s an arse, or even that he’s a silly fool,’ said Beatrice thoughtfully. ‘He could just take it as meaning that he’s here to do the donkey-work.’

‘The loyal sidekick,’ added Gardas, smiling in spite of his determination to be miserable.

‘Exactly. The character the audience keep begging the bard to tell a story about…’

‘And the character keeps hoping she won’t, because he just wants to be left in peace for once,’ Gardas concluded, laughing.

‘Oh, Gardas, I’m so glad you can laugh!’ said Beatrice. ‘When you first came here, you looked so grim that I’d have thought the only thing that could make you laugh would be those gruesome comic songs you sing with Paul – the ones with lines like “along came an avalanche,” and, “he landed on the cobbles like a lump of strawberry jam,” and things.’

‘Yes.’ Those were the songs Gardas had learnt from the other children in the potions farm when he was a boy, and had later taught to Paul, who had been just the right age to appreciate them at thirteen. But Perdita, at least once she’d started to make sense of human language and understood what the songs were about, found them upsetting. The kind of laughter Gardas could share with her was about tickling, and splashing, and nonsense-songs (whether in Dragonese or in Westron). The kind of laughter that he could share with Beatrice was mostly about playing with words, and patterns in stories. There were all different flavours of laughter, in the same way that there were different colours of green or brown. The flavour of laughter that connected him and Paul might be the first one he’d tasted, but it wasn’t necessarily his favourite any more.

All the same, monsters didn’t deserve to laugh.

‘I was supposed to die,’ he repeated. ‘If I couldn’t die back then, the next best would have been dying fighting the Sovereign, if I could distract her for long enough for Paul and the others to get away, so that Paul had to learn how to be a grown-up all of a sudden and look after Perdita. Monsters don’t get happy endings. They don’t get to have a peaceful retirement playing with the grandchildren, or find true love at last and go off for a seaside holiday with drinks with fruit on sticks in them.’

‘So, how many of those things would it take to convince you that you can’t be a monster?’ asked Beatrice, her eyes still shining with amusement. ‘I should think your retirement must be at least six or seven centuries off, but if Paul has children when he grows up, you’ll probably become a grandparent in your forties, and be babysitting your great-great-great-great-grandchildren before you’re legally an adult by dragon standards. And I should think you’ll probably be a good husband for some lucky dragoness or were-dragoness in a couple of hundred years, and – well, the seaside isn’t exactly a long way off, as the dragon flies. In the meantime – I could stick a twig in a blackberry and put it in your bedtime calming potion?’

Gardas gave up trying not to laugh. He roared with laughter at his own absurdity for a long time, until he ran out of breath and sat back, exhausted. ‘I’m being melodramatic, aren’t I?’ he said.

‘Yes. Totally. It’s a good sign, in a way, because it means you’ve learnt enough about stories to think about the different roles you could play. And you’ve also learnt enough of a sense of fun to know when you’re being silly.’

‘I learned that from Perdita,’ said Gardas. ‘And from Shadow. I didn’t know he was called Shadow, then, but when Perdita was a baby, I found out that it was easier to have fun together if I talked to her in Dragonese.’

‘Because the dragon part of you is still a child,’ said Beatrice. ‘Not a monster, and not a pure saint with infallible instincts over whether someone is a monster or not, but just someone who needs love and acceptance and teaching, just as Perdita does. So – I’m glad you’ve told me about what happened, because it helps me understand how what might be going on in Perdita’s mind. We’re going to need to make an extra effort to be patient and understanding with her, at the moment. And it sounds as though you need to make an effort to be kind and patient to Shadow, too. Maybe ask him how he feels, or whether he wants to go out flying, or anything?’

‘I suppose. And I ought to tell Xanthus about him, too. Xanthus knows about being part human and part something else, after all.’


	32. Chapter 32

It was a weekend evening, so Paul was allowed to be up comparatively late, as long as he had done all his homework. Sixth-year work was hard, and while the essays that he, Maz and Martin had written on varieties of dragon had deeply impressed the Dragon Studies teacher, this meant they were now going to be expected to produce excellent work on a regular basis for the next two years.

Frustratingly, being sixth-years didn’t mean that their families considered them old enough to go to a tavern late in the evening without parental supervision, even if it was just the Knight & Dragon where everyone knew Paul anyway. George and Meg certainly didn’t want Princess going out without an adult to keep an eye on her, and, now that Princess had become fond of her new parents, she didn’t want to let them out of her sight for long, either. Now that school had started again, Meg was working part-time, so that on some days, George’s Junior pupils could teach her Infants while she stayed home and taught Princess. On other days, while Meg was at the village school, Princess either came to Paul’s house to spend the day with Beatrice and Auric and Gardas and Perdita, or Princess and Perdita went to play with Perdita’s friend Hazel, a little girl about a year older than Perdita, and be looked after by Hazel’s mother, Nell.

Princess’s command of Westron was improving very quickly. She had an amazing memory, like most people who have been storytellers for years without being able to read and write. Paul and Maz and Martin, and Maz’s brother Will, had been explaining to her about role-playing games, and how they really could do with another player, now that Galena and her father had left Woadhill. 

Paul wasn’t sure where the trolls had gone – probably not directly back to Kernow to claim power. Carbonado had said something about needing to talk to the kobolds – not so much the ones who lived among humans, as the wild kobolds in the woods – and try to learn something about their culture. There were a lot of kobolds in Kernow, and traditionally they had sided with dwarf and human miners, so it was vital that trolls understood what it was that kobolds wanted.

In the meantime, three teenage humans and two sort-of-teenage were-dragons sat around one table in the Knight & Dragon. At a neighbouring table, far enough away not to be interfering with the game, but near enough to keep an eye on the offspring, sat George and Meg, Beatrice and Auric, and Gardas. Perdita had settled down after the frightening events of the summer, enough that they could leave Hazel’s mother to babysit her.

George had spent some time asking Martin about the kinds of stories that were told in the other world he had visited. Apparently, they didn’t only have legends about magical worlds like the world Paul lived in, but many other stories, too.

‘So, have you all chosen what you want to be?’ George asked. ‘Beatrice is a Vulcan, Auric is a Kryptonian, Meg is a Time Lord, and what about you, Gardas?’

‘Rooarrggghhh!’ announced Gardas.

‘Yes, of course you can play a Wookiee,’ said George calmly. ‘Only, remember we agreed that we’ve all got fish in our ears translating for us, so that we can understand each others’ speech? So it’s as if we’re all speaking the same language, so you don’t need to speak in roars in order to stay in character. Can you just speak normally?’

‘ _All right,_ ’ said Gardas, in Dragonese. All the other grown-ups on the table laughed.

Grown-ups were embarrassing, and Paul knew that this was never going to change. But right now, he was glad that they were enjoying themselves.


End file.
